


What Hands Like Ours Can Do

by Raspberry_bby



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And this is what I do with it, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley doesn't know where babies come from, Drinking, Genderfluid Crowley, Grief/Mourning, I have a degree in this shit, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Lots of drinking, Mesopotamian-era (Good Omens), Minor Character Death, Other, Smoking, depictions of violence, drug use i guess, just like--average fantasy level violence, snake jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23077741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raspberry_bby/pseuds/Raspberry_bby
Summary: "I think love's kiss kills our heart of flesh.It is the only way to eternal life,Which should be unbearable if livedAmong the dying flowersAnd the shrieking farewellsOf the overstretched arms of our spoiled hopes."--Gilgamesh, A Verse Narrative | Harold Mason
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Enkidu/Gilgamesh (Mesopotamian Mythology)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue: Be Fruitful and Multiply

It is well established that most often, the places where people don’t go are the most interesting places to be. A secluded corner of an overgrown garden, the attic of an ancestral home, the interior of a low-lit bookshop which has only 1-star reviews on any travel site one were to check and whose owner forever goes out of his way to Keep It That Way.

Even angels, if one were to be so inclined, have corners in heaven where the theoretical dust gathers, and interesting things can be found if anyone cared to look. The same is also true of demons; and of hell. Though the dust in hell is much more literal. And mildewy.

Everything in the universe has a place. Even if that place is, on the whole, forgotten. Entropy being the natural order of things, anything left to its own devices will eventually find its way to one of these places.

The outbox of Hephamiael the record keeper is one such place. As is the bottom drawer of the desk formerly belonging to Xerach the Flayed Man, Apostle of Dagon and Keeper of the Forgotten Tomes. And as such, no one finds these places easily, and the things that rest there are rarely disturbed, gathering dust and invisible to all eyes but One. God’s, of course. And now yours.

Let’s take a peek. I know you want to.

* * *

**4004 B.C.**

The oldest item in either of these locations is a bone. A femur, to be precise; of a he-goat that had slipped through Eden’s walls and wandered out in the wastes alongside Adam and Eve. If one were to examine the bone one would find human tooth-marks; but over that, one would find a short missive, unreadable to any mortal, scratched into the ivory with what one would presume to be a talon, and one would be right.

The missive reads as such:

_Temptation accomplished. Requesting records on Opposition: Active Principalities. Name Unknown. Flaming Sword, you know the one._

_Cheers ~Demon Crawly_

Crawly glanced away from the bone in his hands and kneaded aggressively at the growing welt across his shoulder. He winced. Corporations were really much more trouble than they had any business being.

Unsurprisingly, Adam had been less than pleased to see him again after the stunt he’d pulled in the garden. He’d chased Crawley off as soon as he’d laid eyes on him, sending the massive snake off into the night with previously un-spoken curses and the gnawed bones of the first supper past the garden’s walls.

_Well what the heaven now?_ Crawly thought to himself, reclining against a white dune as he watched the far-off spark of the angel’s blade glitter like a star in a dim silver sky. He hoped that the whole apple business would be enough trouble made to get him out of slag-spawn duty for a while. Who knew, maybe he could get away with staying up on earth for the next few centuries. That’d be nice. Any chance to get away from Hastur was one Crawly was willing to jump at.

The bone crumbled into blackened ash as he tossed it behind him and down into hell’s waiting maw. He knew it was unlikely that they’d get back to him on the identity of the angel on the wall. But he couldn’t help if he was curious, could he? Too many questions—that’s what they liked about him down there, right?

More likely it was too many questions of people who _weren’t_ them. _Shut up Crawly; Bite your tongue; None of your business; Get back to the Garden; Don’t you have some planting to do?_

“Penny for your thoughts, snake?”

Crawly nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. Beside him, bathed in moonlight, crouched a woman. If viewed from a distance, the two could have been twins; pale—freckled, with hair like blood. She opened her hand and grinned like a jackal, a pearl of enamel in her sun-darkened palm.

“Think I’ll pass.” Crawly said and turned his attention back to the spark on the horizon.

She pouted, and drew her shawl closer around her shoulders, “You’re no fun anymore.”

Crawly’s lips peeled back in a half-sneer, “You’ve just got a shite definition of fun, Lilith.”

Lilith hummed low in her throat, “And here I thought I’d get one last hurrah in before I went on my merry way. I’m going to be quite busy in the future, Crawly. No time for our usual mischief.”

“You know something I don’t?”

She smiled at him, something dark and wicked curling around her in the moonlight, “They’re not chucking angels off the roof anymore. How do you think Lucifer expects to bolster the ranks for the next war? I’ve got work to do.” Crawly blinked at her stupidly.

“I’ve got a bun in the oven?”

“Didn’t know you baked.”

Lilith looked frankly amazed by his obtuseness, “I’m in a family way? I’ve a bat in the cave? Expecting?”

Crawly smiled blandly, “Right, I’ll bite, _what are you expecting, Lilith?_ ”

She sighed and took his chin in her hand, gold eyes met yellow and she smiled again, indulgently. “I’m pregnant, Crawly. Little demonlings running around, messing up the place.”

“ _Wot?_ There’s—more of you?”

Lilith laughed outright, “More of me? Oh yes, quite a bit more. What a pretty mirror we make, Eve and I. She with her whelps, and me—” she placed a proprietary hand over her belly, “with mine. I’d offer to make you godfather if that weren’t the biggest joke in the universe.”

“Yeah,” Crawly said, humorlessly. He turned his gaze back to the thin line of white at the edge of the sky.

She followed his gaze, out over the shifting sands, and a tiny smile pulled at the corners of her too-wide mouth, “We’re all slaves, Crawly. But to what?” Lilith stood, brushing sand off her robes, “If we’re lucky, we get a chance to choose. You gave me that chance. And I’m forever grateful.”

A feather-light hand came to rest on Crawly’s shoulder, and he didn’t shy away. Not even when she bent low beside him, cheek pressed against his, staring at the horizon together, “His name is Aziraphale,” she whispered, “I remember. He was kind to me, like you. Offered to look the other way if I tried to sneak out.”

“Wh—”

“Be good to him. There’s not many left up there like him.” Lilith chuckled, pressed a swift kiss to his temple, and was gone.

When he turned to look, all that was left of her were a set of bare footprints, trailing off into the distance toward the marshes.


	2. One: Lead Me and I will Change the Order of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We begin with a report.

**2060 B.C.**

Before paper, papyrus, or vellum, there was clay. Clay, what made the flesh of Adam; clay, to keep out the dark when the night gathered in close with teeth and claws. Fitting, then, that clay should keep such secrets as the angels have to share.

Of course, Aziraphale was the only angel who appreciated the poetry in that.

As such, for many years, he made Hephamiael swim through the thick grey tablets to get to his desk.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, using the pad of his thumb to rub out the last line of characters in the wet clay, “Oh, I can’t possibly send that up to them. It just won’t do.” He was right, of course. To phrase his request as he had simply wouldn’t do. Too many questions raised.

Aziraphale scratched the side of his nose, leaving a wet swipe of clay across his cheek. Mumbling to himself, he fidgeted with his stylus, tapping it against the stone on his knee. Above him, the bright Mesopotamian sun played hide and seek with the little fish that swam about in the rushes. Aziraphale leaned back against the gnarled poplar behind him and swung his leg down to dip his toes in the water.

Above him, a thrush settled on a branch and began to sing.

Very peaceful. If only it could stay this way. He felt sick to his stomach, as he looked into the distance and saw the caravan of people streaming from Uruk like so many ants. The whispers had reached him, even here. The people called them gods, titans, giants. Creatures of flesh and teeth and fury that ravaged the land and the cities therein. He’d received a write up within the last century warning about improper conduct with humans, and he’d been shocked by the implications.

“Still up on watch, are we?”

Aziraphale startled a little, but relaxed when he saw that it was indeed, only Crowley. Crowley had changed things up since the flood, now wearing women’s dress with a little beaded headdress that flashed against her hair. Aziraphale then un-relaxed, remembering that it was Not an Angelic Thing to Do, being put at ease by the Enemy.

“Oh-er. Yes. I suppose so.” He covered his half-finished tablet with the end of his scarf.

Crowley hiked her kaunake up to join Aziraphale at the riverbank and paddled her feet in the water. The breeze tugged at the locks of her red hair and Aziraphale wondered at how relaxed she could be when doom was coming on long legs to Uruk.

“So what’re they running from this time? Another flood?” Crowley asked, entirely too casual.

Aziraphale shot her a look, “Of course not—It’s the,” he paused, “do you really not know?”

She shrugged, “Lots of stuff they don’t tell me anymore.”

“Well,” Aziraphale paused again, the kind of pause that one takes before deciding to order that plate of oysters to share amongst the table after all, _just to be bad_. “Well if you _must_ know there’s been a bit of a…falling out. Amongst the spheres.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide, “They’re Falling? _Again?_ ”

“Oh no no—not at all,” Aziraphale backpedaled, “I—well, _sort of_. You see, there were a few angels; third sphere, mostly that er. Had _relations_ with the humans.” Crowley looked nonplussed, Aziraphale continued, “And the. _Children_ I suppose—well according to the last write-up I received, they are called Nephilim and they are quite vicious.”

“Mean buggers, are they? These chaps?” Crowley still didn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation.

“Crawly.” Aziraphale said, with the patience of a being who was around to keep Cain and Abel from eating strange berries when Eve’s back was turned. “They’re _half-angels_. They _shouldn’t exist_. I-I-I mean they’re _giants_. A mile high at least. And there’s one heading right for Uruk.”

Crowley whistled appreciatively. “Is there now? Coming to eat the peasantry?”

Aziraphale chuckled nervously, “Don’t think so. The people think it’s coming on behalf of their gods to punish the king for his…inequities—” Aziraphale turned sharply to give Crowley, who looked incredibly guilty, a scathing once-over, “That’s not your doing, is it?”

“Wh-No!” Crowley pulled a face, “Gilgamesh is a right prick all on his own.”

“Crawly.”

“I _didn’t,_ ” she whined, “Look— _maybe_ this nephilim thing was wandering around in the woods and—and just _happened_ to hear someone complaining about the king? Who’s to say? Not me.”

“Crawly,” Aziraphale spluttered, “You--?”

“Nuh! It’s a _hypothetical,_ Aziraphale, who—who knows what sort of stuff happens in the woods? Anyway,” She changed the subject with all the grace of a rabbit climbing a tree, “Gilgamesh deserves whatever’s coming to him. Serves him right to get his shit kicked in by an angel.”

“ _Half-_ angel,” Aziraphale emphasized, dropping the subject, “And heaven is _not_ pleased about them existing. I rather thought they were your side’s idea, when I first heard about them.”

Crowley shrugged, “Not that I know of, but if heaven doesn’t want them, I’m sure my lot will gladly scoop them up. Lilith’s taken a sabbatical from her dearest husband and he’s getting itchy about _bolstering the ranks--_ Ssso are you here to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand?” 

“A bit, yes. I’m hoping not to have to get involved with the actual _fighting_ but I’ve been helping organize the evacuations, giving blessings where I can. And I have received word from heaven that they _will_ be sending someone down to deal with the nephilim.” He swallowed, twiddled his thumbs. “Eventually.”

“Sure,” Crowley scoffed, “Sounds about right.”

“Yes, well…” Aziraphale shrugged the kind of shrug that is shrugged at business meetings and around troubling executives. He caught himself, and shied away from Crowley in pique, “Well, it’s been lovely, I—I need to get back.” He pushed himself to his feet and gathered up his stylus and tablet, “Be seeing you,” he said, mentally kicking himself for sounding so familiar. _Traitor_ , it rang in his head like the peal of a bell as he scurried off toward the high walls of Uruk and the people who fled them.

As he walked, he paused here and there to scrawl out a few syllables in his still-damp tablet.

_Principality Aziraphale—Ten-year Report: Uruk and surrounding Sumer:_

_Things going smoothly on Earth. Few skirmishes between city-states. Working diligently on fostering the arts and culture of the area. Nephilim causing trouble. Please advise. General Unrest, etc._

Aziraphale paused at the gates of Uruk, looking back at the hill and his little poplar tree. All about him, evacuees were wailing, panicked and beating their breasts as they flooded from the city. In the shade of his tree, he could see a faint flash of red. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and continued on into the throng.

_Adversary still skulking about. Thwarting Wiles at every possible turn. Requesting all files on Demon: Crawly._

_For thwarting purposes._

* * *

Let’s step back a bit.

A few days past, Crowley had been getting up to her usual mischief in the wilderness outside of Sumer. This included, but was not limited to, wandering drunk in the woods, sending threatening glances at the assorted wildlife, and looking sadly at the ancient strata in the cliffs she passed. Old water marks, from an old disaster. One that still sat crooked in her chest.

_It’ll be called a Rain-bow._

Crowley had seen many rainbows in the years since the Flood. She didn’t understand the hype. They always made her feel sick to her stomach.

“Stupid. Whassat say then? _Pair up_ eh? And you—” She pointed a finger at a songbird that had paused in its screaming at the wrong time, “Just _did it!_ Bet you’re bloody glad you did. But what about all the other whosums? ‘N the whatsits. All about. Where’v they gone? Not. Not to hell— _naaaah don’t send the animals down there, too nasty_.” She approached a rabbit, pinned down by her gaze and too afraid to move, “D’you think you go to heaven?” She asked it, suddenly very serious.

The rabbit did not respond.

Crowley was under orders to inspire lust and excess in the god-king of Uruk. Gilgamesh, as usual, had not needed much of a push. She had found, upon arriving in the city, that the people were miserable living under the yolk of their king’s appetites. He was already a false idol, claiming to be three-quarter’s god, when in actuality he just had access to clean living and good food, and his lusts were already famous across Sumer. Crowley had felt rather superfluous, if she was honest.

She’d gotten all gussied up, joined the retinue of royal concubines, and pushed her tits up as far as her dress would allow. Show off the assets. She was very proud of them, actually. It was the first time she’d played around with her corporation like this, and she found that she quite enjoyed it.

Gilgamesh, however, had completely ignored her. Which was, frankly, baffling. Crowley _was_ temptation. The cheek! Who the heaven did he think he was to gloss over her appearance in his court entirely, and fill his lap with his other concubines instead? And then. _And then._ To send her off on some godforsaken monster hunt.

_There’s a crazy man in the woods, my king!_

_Ah, of course, Shamhat, you know of ways to sate men—go help this man capture the Wildman._ She wasn’t sure she liked the name she’d picked. But it would do for now. She’d been toying with the idea of actually changing her name entirely—Crawly didn’t really sit well with her. But either way, she’d been properly ousted, and the trapper who had led her here had left at the treeline, too afraid to go any further.

Not that she minded not having to entertain the king. But it was the principle of the thing.

“Bugger all that,” Crowley said, stooping and picking up a rock, “I’m the hottest thing since…” She blinked, trying to think of hot things, “Since the sun!” And she hucked the rock off into the distance as hard as she could. It fell hard into the underbrush. 

“Ouch!”

Odd, that. Trees didn’t usual yell.

Crowley peeked through the bushes, and found herself nose to nose with a giant. Well, not quite a giant; but the biggest human she’d ever seen. Eight feet tall at least, and wearing only the pelts of what he could hunt. His hands were easily the size of her whole head, and his _hair_. It put her own to shame. Thick, black, and long to his hips, held in clumsy plaits and looking a bit ragged if she had to be honest. It shone in the sun like polished onyx, a river of ink, waiting to be tamed. 

She blinked, and sobered up as best she could. “That’s a lot of hair you’ve got, mate,” she said.

He frowned, “Yes?”

“Bet it’s real heavy.”

“It is.”

“I can help, if you don’t mind. Here—” Crowley pushed through the brush and grabbed the giant by the wrist, “You sit here,” she pushed him to his knees in front of an overturned log and perched herself upon it, “And I’ll see what I can do with all this. What’s your name, kid?”

“E-Enkidu.”

“Mnh. Right. Grand. Just tilt your head for me, yeah?” And she began to braid.

Enkidu was a good kid, and an excellent listener. And Crowley had a _lot_ to gossip about. She told him about Uruk, about living in the king’s palace, about how he treated his people, how he took what he wanted from them, and gave little in return.

She told him about the gods that the people worshipped, the beauty they inspired, and the fear they wrought. She even told him a bit about herself. And about the scribe that worked in the granaries, who's tablets were always irritatingly perfect in their calculations, and who she had been trying to make proper friends with for what felt like _centuries_. 

"I mean look at me, kid. I'd like to think I've got something going for me, but he's so stuck on the whole _hereditary enemies_ thing I can barely get him to get a drink with me some days!" 

Sometimes you just need someone to vent to.

Enkidu returned the favor, telling her about growing up in the woods, with only the animals for company. He was astounded by the idea that there were people who cut their hair, and let her trim his back to his shoulders. He stared at his reflection in the mirror of a nearby watering-hole, and grinned.

“And people just. Live like that?”

 _“Right?_ But you know, there is something to be said for beer.”

“What’s beer?”

“Oh—” Crowley covered her heart with a hand, “Oh my lad, you have _so much to learn._ ”

Seven days passed. Seven days in which Crowley educated Enkidu on the ways of men, on beer, and wine, and sleeping, and jokes, and the company of friends. And he found that he was indeed longing for all of these things. And when she walked out of the forest again, it was with the giant in tow.

“Shamhat!” The trapper called to her, grinning lewdly, “You’ve done it! You’ve tamed him with your charms!”

“Er. Yeah. Charms, right. Look—we’re taking him back to Uruk.”

“I’m going to wrestle Gilgamesh.” Enkidu said, crossing his arms decidedly over his massive chest. It was something that Crowley had told him that people did for fun. And he liked the idea of it. He smiled at the trapper and pushed past him toward the road, eager to reach this fabled city.

The trapper blanched, and whispered to Crowley, “He’s…he’s going to challenge the king?”

“Uhhh, I guess? Yeah?” Crowley said, unable to really encapsulate what was actually going on in Enkidu’s head.

“Gods above,” he gasped, “I—The city must be warned. I’m sorry, I have to go—” And he sprinted off towards his mule, waiting beside a fat berry bush, riding off towards Uruk at a breakneck pace.

Enkidu turned back to Crowley and frowned, “Is he alright?”

 _“Yeahhhhh_ ,” Crowley waved him off, “He’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you aren't familiar with the Epic of Gilgamesh, I will do my best to make things make sense, I promise <3


	3. Whatever the Terror

Aziraphale wrung his hands, pacing across the floor of his room. Outside, he could hear the king’s hunting party readying themselves for the long trip north.

“Oh golly,” he murmured.

Gilgamesh and the nephilim Enkidu had, surprisingly, gotten along like a house on fire—only after beating the tar out of each other. And Aziraphale was feeling guiltier and guiltier with every passing day. He’d already sent off his latest report, requesting intervention on the part of Enkidu.

But that was before he’d actually _met_ him.

Before he’d seen how the king looked at him.

And now they were both heading north, to the cedar forest. To pick a fight with a demon.

“Oh… _bother_.” There was no way the two of them, no matter _how_ angelically inclined, could take on a demon of the likes of the one who stood guard over the forest. Aziraphale had been keeping a close eye on Humbaba in recent years, as Gilgamesh had turned his attention to the cedars and the industry they promised.

Humbaba would prove to be quite the challenge to anyone without divine intervention. And despite Enkidu’s heritage, he was _not_ divinely inspired. Not in the ways he needed to be to properly deal with a demon of Humbaba’s caliber.

But Aziraphale couldn’t let the king run off to certain death on his own. He _couldn’t._ He’d worked _too hard_ to turn Gilgamesh toward the light, and all of that effort would be absolutely wasted if the Humbaba popped his head like a grape.

“No one needs to know,” he said, “I’m not exactly _authorized_. But I _am_ a Principality, I’ve…done it before.” Aziraphale sighed and sat down on his pallet. “I’d really rather not.”

“Not what?”

Aziraphale straightened his shoulders and pretended like he wasn’t _relieved_ to hear Crowley’s voice. Not _happy_ to see her, lounging against the door to his room, looking bored and actually quite nice in that dress—but in a way that suggested that she did not care enough to _actually_ put any effort into it.

But they couldn’t really help it if Uruk was rather smaller than it seemed from outside, could they? They were bound to run into each other from time to time. It wasn’t their fault that their respective superiors had both told them to concentrate on Gilgamesh. Aziraphale had simply been doing what he was asked. Establishing himself as one of Gilgamesh’s scribes was easy. And a king can only have time for so many concubines, so Crowley was bound to be wandering around the palace from time to time, with too much time on her hands and nothing else to do but chat. So what?

So what?

So, he still shouldn’t get friendly.

“Not…leave my post to accompany the king.” He lied.

“Oh.” Crowley’s shoulders slumped just slightly, “thought your post was _with_ the king?”

“It. It is,” He said, “But. I have so much inscribing to do, and. I’d rather not leave it to keep watch on Gilgamesh, especially when Atab is—”

“I’ll do it for you.”

“You’ll. What?” Aziraphale fixed her with a sharp gaze. Crowley fidgeted with the bangles around her wrists, looking suddenly anxious.

“I’ll. Do it for you? I—I mean, _ngf,_ if you’re really worried about it.”

Aziraphale smiled, a little bemused, “Crawly, do you even know what being a scribe entails?”

“ _Ehhh_ , can’t be that hard.” She adjusted her shawl and sauntered farther into the room, “Look, I’ve been trying to push Gilgamesh toward evil for years, and I’ve never needed to work very hard at it—you’ve seen him. So I’ll give you a leg up this time. _I’ll_ take care of the…scribing. And _you_ can go and guide the king toward good,” she stuck her finger toward the back of her throat and gagged theatrically, “for now.”

He smiled up at her, “All right my dear. If you insist.”

“Oh I do,” Crowley grinned and tossed her head imperiously, “You’ll see—I’ll fill the king’s inventory tablets with all sorts of obscene graffiti. No one will be able to balance the books for months!”

“Crawly, _please_ behave while I’m away.”

“Shan’t.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the laugh that punched its way up his throat, “Don’t make me thwart you, serpent.”

Crowley’s eyes glittered in the low light, “That a promise, angel?” The laughter in Aziraphale’s chest shut off. He could feel himself stepping gently around some great pit—something deep and dangerous that nested in his chest that he wasn’t ready to look at straight on. Something in the air shifted. Crowley’s presence in his room was suddenly very large.

He stood. “Yes. Well. I’d better prepare for the journey. The king is going to set off within the hour.”

“Yeah.” Crowley shrunk; small and contrite and anxious once again, “Yeah, I’ll leave you be. Bye.”

She was gone before Aziraphale could say anything else. He swallowed.

_Best not dwell on it._

* * *

The gates of Uruk shrank on the horizon behind him. Below, the tiny dots of Gilgamesh and Enkidu separated from the larger party and moved, slowly, off the roads and towards the mountains that fuzzed up against the sky in the distance and, invisible at their base, the Cedars where the demon Humbaba had made himself a home.

Aziraphale touched down just outside the forest. It would be days before the king arrived, and he might as well try and convince Humbaba to just…scoot along out of the way for a week or two. If he could find him. If he could even talk to him. Not many demons were as eager to listen to him as Crowley.

The air was cool, and Aziraphale shook the theoretical cobwebs from his wings. It had been a while since he’d needed to go anywhere fast, and there really was nothing quite as exhilarating as flying. Shooting comet-fast across the world, haloed in white light and burning the air as he moved. It was in his best interests to not actually meet up with Gilgamesh on this trip. In the old days, he’d burned men’s eyes from their heads at just the whiff of his divine essence. It would not do for the king to return home glowing with religious ecstasy. Or blind. Or, for that matter, harboring conspiracies about the mild mannered scribe he employed to keep track of the granary. It would ruin everything if when he returned to Uruk, there was a retinue of worshippers and a new temple to him in the works. Terribly embarrassing. Crowley would never let him live it down.

So he had decided to be fashionably early, hide out, and observe. Best case scenario, Gilgamesh and Enkidu wouldn’t even _smell_ Humbaba, and all of this timber harvesting nonsense would move forward without the need of an angelic finger weighing down one side of the scale.

Aziraphale didn’t hold out much hope. Instead, he set to work making a hide to bunk down in. The sun disappeared in the west.

It did so three times before he moved again.

_They stood there marveling at the forest,_

_gazing at the lofty cedars,_

_gazing at the forest’s entrance—_

_where Humbaba came and went there was a track._

_The path was straight and the way well-trodden._

_they saw the Mountain of Cedar, seat of gods and goddesses’ throne._

_One the face of the mountain cedar proffered its abundance,_

_its shade was sweet and full of delight._

_The thorn bushes were matted together, the woods were a thicket_

_among the cedars, the boxwood grew_

_the forest was surrounded by a ravine two leagues long_

_and again for two thirds of that distance._

Aziraphale watched through the trees as Gilgamesh retrieved a massive axe from his supplies and leveled it at a large cedar with a mighty _CRACK._

Everything was quiet. And Aziraphale felt the ground tremble beneath him.

“Oh bugger.”

_Suddenly the swords…_

_and after the sheaths…_

_the axes were smeared…_

_dagger and sword…_

_alone._

Humbaba bent the trees with his wrath. Breaking like a tempest across the forest. Aziraphale watched his approach, saw his seven faces; shifting, melting into each other, battling for dominance of his head. The massive teeth, gnashing, screaming as he came. Humbaba was a firstborn. One of the new demons since the Fall. Born of sin and completely of the earth. He was a horror, twenty feet tall, four powerful arms, each armed with a spear the thickness of a sapling. His great taloned feet left troughs in the soft earth as he walked.

Aziraphale sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

_Humbaba spoke to Gilgamesh, saying:_

_“…An idiot and a moron should give advice_

_to each other,_

_but you, Gilgamesh, why have you come to me?_

_Give advice, Enkidu, you son of a fish,_

_who does not even_

_know his own father,_

_to the large and small turtles_

_which do not suck their mother’s milk!_

_When you were still young I saw you_

_but did not go over to you;_

_…you will live in my belly._

_…you have brought Gilgamesh into my presence,_

_…you stand…an enemy, a stranger._

_I will rend Gilgamesh, throat and neck,_

_I would feed your flesh to the screeching vulture,_

_the eagle, and the vulture!”_

_Gilgamesh spoke to Enkidu, saying:_

_“My friend, Humbaba’s face keeps changing!”_

_Enkidu spoke to Gilgamesh, saying:_

_“Why, my friend, are you whining so pitiably,_

_hiding behind your whimpering?_

_Now there, my friend…_

_Do not snatch your feet away, do not turn your back,_

_…strike even harder!”_

Gilgamesh spat blood into the dirt and stared up at the towering, shifting figure of Humbaba, wreathed in darkness. He threw himself at the demon, a guttural yell wrenched from his lips as they collided, sending shockwaves rolling through the trees.

_The ground split open with the heels of their feet,_

_as they whirled around in circles_

_Mt. Hermon and Lebanon split._

_The white clouds darkened,_

_death rained down on them like a fog._

Aziraphale couldn't watch anymore. He launched himself forward, his body elongating into a white beam of light, and threw a shoulder-shaped bit of his essence into Humbaba. Hard. White-gold light filled the air as Aziraphale turned, skidding on his ethereal heels, and slammed into Humbaba again. Again. Again. Again. Taking chunks of demonic essence off him with every strike. 

_Shamash raised up against Humbaba mighty tempests’—_

_Southwind, northwind, eastwind, westwind,_

_whistling wind, piercing wind,_

_blizzard, bad wind, wind of Simurru,_

_demon wind, ice wind, storm, sandstorm—_

_thirteen winds rose up against him_

_and covered Humbaba’s face._

_He could not butt through the front,_

_and he could not scramble out the back,_

_so that Gilgamesh’s weapons were finally in reach of Humbaba._

If one were to be looking down at the whole situation, one would notice that as Aziraphale battered against the demon, carrying Gilgamesh forward in his silvery wake, the sun was steadily rising in the east, shafts of golden light breaking through the trees and bathing everything in the soft golden glow of dawn. And perhaps that would have seemed significant. If one were paying close enough attention.

Humbaba fell to his knees, and Aziraphale fell back into the shadows, watching the situation with eyes that glowed gold and white in the dark. He shifted, wings putting themselves to rights, eyes and eyes and eyes closing softly until he was just Aziraphale. Soft, dowdy, and sweet, watching the king and his champion from the shelter of the trees.

_Humbaba begged for his life, saying to Gilgamesh:_

_“You are young yet, Gilgamesh, your mother gave birth to you,_

_you are the offspring of Rimnt-Ninsun…_

_[it was] at the word of Shamash, Lord of the Mountain,_

_that you were roused to this expedition.’_

_It really wasn’t._ Aziraphale thought to himself, _Gilgamesh did the rousing all on his own._

_‘O scion of the heart of Uruk, King Gilgamesh!_

_Gilgamesh…_

_Gilgamesh, let me go. I will dwell with you as your servant_

_As many trees as you command me I will cut down for you,_

_I will guard your myrtle wood…_

_wood fine enough for your palace!”_

“Don’t listen to him,” Enkidu said, wiping blood from his forehead.

Humbaba, now small, and possessing only one face, gaped up at the two of them, “N-no, you don’t understand! There are rules in my forest, I have to guard it, I was ordered to guard it by my master. I should have killed you when I had the chance, I would have fed you to the vultures, but I didn’t, I let you fight me.” Gilgamesh looked down at the sundered demon coldly, the blade in his hand glinting wicked in the dawn.

“Enkidu, you tell him—” Humbaba gasped, “He’ll listen to you, tell him to spare me!”

Enkidu blinked, and a mask seemed to cover his face. For the first time since he had met him, Aziraphale could see the divine might the young Nephilim wielded.

“Kill him. His master can take it up with us. We’ve only got one chance for this. Don’t waste it.” In that moment, Enkidu looked up, looking straight through the underbrush and pinning Aziraphale in place with his gaze. He knew in an instant that Enkidu was _completely_ aware of what had just happened. Aziraphale could not hide from him.

It was, frankly, terrifying.

Gilgamesh held his sword aloft, and Aziraphale made a choice. The blade seemed to glow gold in the morning light as he brought it down upon the neck of Humbaba. A singing noise, almost too high for human ears to hear. A flash of bronze. A gout of black blood. The body of the demon dissolved into thick black tar.

Aziraphale let out a long breath, and turned, spreading his wings to take him back to Uruk. He could _really_ go for a drink.

_Enkidu addressed Gilgamesh saying:_

_“My friend, we have cut down the towering Cedar whose top_

_scrapes the sky._

_Make from it a door 72 cubits high, 24 cubits wide,_

_one cubit thick, its fixture, its lower and upper pivots will be out of one piece._

_Let them carry it to Nippur, the Euphrates will carry it down, Nippur will rejoice.”_

_They tied together a raft…_

_Enkidu steered it…_

_while Gilgamesh held the head of Humbaba._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so nervous about this chapter. Tablet 5 is one of the more degraded tablets, so I had to pull from multiple translations to make the quotes cohesive enough to form a proper narrative. 
> 
> Also, just a note, Shamash is the Sumerian god of the sun, who often communicated with Gilgamesh through dreams. By stepping in, Aziraphale has unknowingly conflated himself with Shamash. Who is different from Shamhat, the concubine. 
> 
> It's all very confusing. But we make do.


	4. Eat the Food : Drink the Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demon Humbaba is dead, I think that constitutes reason to celebrate, don't you?

The night was cool, and the city of Uruk was bright with celebratory bonfires. The demon Humbaba was dead. His head stared down at them all from the highest battlement, impaled on a pike and dripping thick, tarry blood.

Gilgamesh had been back in Uruk for seven hours, and Aziraphale had been drunk for all of them. But so was everyone else, so it was acceptable.

All around him, laughter and music. It was one of the things he loved most about his posting on earth. How well the human race bounced back from terror. He loved it almost as much as he loved their ingenuity with food.

Speaking of. Aziraphale returned his attention to the plate on his knee, covered in delicacies straight from the royal larder. Olives and sweet shaved ice and hummus and goat cheese covered in oil and rosemary. Honey, and peaches and little slices of apples with grapes.

Absolutely heavenly.

A body flopped down on the cushions beside him and he tried his best to focus on them. Long legs, red hair, yellow—yellow eyes. Ah. Crowley, yes.

“Enjoying the fest-festivities?” He asked.

“Mnh. As much as I can when I’m not being called back to perform over and over again,” she ran a thin hand through her sweat-touseled hair, “how many times do they have to see the Dance of the Seven Veils?”

Aziraphale slouched down in his seat, “As many. As many times as you’ll do it, I suppose.”

“You mind?” She asked, and leaned close to pluck a grape from his plate. Aziraphale blinked stupidly as the smell of her overwhelmed him. Cloves and honey and the sharp hint of salt. He nodded, and Crawly popped the grape in her mouth, skewering it on her sharp canines.

She sighed and flopped down to put her head in his lap, her curls washing over his thighs and glowing like fire in the low light, “’m just gonna lay here for a bit. You’d think these corporations wouldn’t get tired, but I’m blessing _exhausted._ ”

“You _have_ been—” Aziraphale waved his hand absently, “ _wiggling_ about all night. ‘Mnot surprised.”

Crowley opened an eye and glared up at him, “You don’t like my dancing?”

Aziraphale’s stomach decided to practice knot-tying, “Wh—I never said _that_ dear. I think. Think you’re a very fine dancer.”

“You’re fucking right I am,” Crowley said, and settled herself more comfortably on his lap, closing her eyes again and sighing. “Best dancer in Uruk. Also the dress gets _very_ hot. Well. The bottom of it does. Top’s not so much a problem.”

Aziraphale patted her head comfortingly, if a little clumsily. Above them, the lanterns lit up the night, pillars of lapis and white stone shining in the dark.

“So,” Crowley said, eyes still closed. Somewhere along the line, Aziraphale had stopped patting her and was now running his fingers absently through her hair. “Might I assume that you gave Humbaba the ol’ one-two?”

“Mnh. Yes. Been—been quite a while since I’ve smote _anything_ really. Can’t say I ever enjoy. Enjoyed it.”

“Probably for the best. He was a right prick. Always going on about being Lilith’s favorite _._ ” Crawly’s eyes opened, staring wide-eyed up at him,“Oh…I forgot about Lilith. Oh bollocks, she’s still up here. She’ll _know._ ”

Aziraphale goggled at her, “She will? You. Don’t think she’ll be terribly upset—‘bout it, do you dear?”

She tapped a pensive finger against her lips and Aziraphale found that he couldn’t look away, “Can’t really say. Maybe, maybe not. She’s. Not like the rest of us, you know? She _loves_ them.”

“The spawn?”

“Yeh. It’s. Odd. First, Lucifer didn’t quite know what to make of it. Named every one of them herself.” Crowley made an odd grumbling noise as Aziraphale passed his hand once more through her tangles, “None of us can do that.”

He squinted at her, “Wha— _names?_ ”

“No— _love._ I-I mean not _technically._ That’s what they tell you, at least. She burned Her love out of us on the way down and now we just…can’t do it.” Crawly averted her eyes from Aziraphale’s downturned face, heat rushing up to blossom in her cheeks, “But Lilith didn’t Fall like the rest of us, so she loves. I guess. Dunno. Haven’t really had a chat with her about it.”

Aziraphale sniffled. She snuck a glance up at him from behind her lashes. His eyes were huge in his head. His lip quivered. Fat, wet, silvery tears hung just out of reach of his lashes.

“Oh-Oh shit, Angel,” Crowley sat up, knocking his hand away from her hair, and gripped him by the shoulders, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“It’s just. _so sad,_ ” Aziraphale whimpered, and Crowley felt her spine unclench.

“Hey, it’s not so bad. I—we don’t even really remember what we’re missing, yeah?”

“But. But you can’t _feel_ it dear, and it’s so beautiful, and I’m _so sorry_ —”

Crowley sighed exasperatedly and leaned back to sit next to him, “Aziraphale. There’s nothing to be done about it. It’s just the way of things. Don’t you go soft on me, Angel, you can get in a lot of trouble, crying over a demon.”

“Oh…I know,” Aziraphale let out a long breath and composed himself, “Might sober up. I’m getting weepy.”

“Yeah.” She felt him shudder as all the beer in his body found itself suddenly back in its barrels, “You know,” she said, whistfully, almost too quiet for him to hear, “If I could love, I’d like to imagine I’d love someone like you.”

Aziraphale choked on his hummus. He turned to stare at her.

Crowley stared back. Her face was nearly as red as her hair, eyes huge and entirely gold. She looked like she wanted to crawl back to hell that very instant.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

They stared at each other. If anyone watching was a mind-reader, they would have heard only one thought in both of their heads: _What do I say now?_ All around them, the celebration raged on. Crowley’s gaze darted downward, to the tiny dot of peach juice still clinging to Aziraphale’s lip, and her heart did the Dance of the Seven Veils in high speed behind her ribs.

“Shamhat!” They jumped apart as another of Gilgamesh’s concubines rushed over, holding a little drum in her hands, “They want to see you dance again! Come on!”

“Gbhn—I. Er.”

“Yes. Well.”

“Should get going.”

“Absolutely.”

“Dancing, and all.”

“Break a leg!” Aziraphale’s voice sounded high and tight in his ears. Crowley stood, collected her shawl, and followed the woman into the crowd, glancing back over her shoulder as she left. A few moments later, Aziraphale groaned and got to his feet. He might as well see what all the fuss was about.

Someone banked the fire. Embers spitting up to dance like stars in the dark. A long, droning note sang high on the air as a woman placed her bone flute to her lips. She was joined, quickly, by another flute. And then drums. A lute twanged somewhere in the dark, and the fire was relit.

If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Crowley had a halo. Flames, leaping high behind her, sparks hissing around her ankles as she began to move. The drums were like a heartbeat. Aziraphale had never been one for dancing. Angels, after all, weren’t really _supposed_ to dance. And he’d heard that demons weren’t very good at it either. But Crowley. Crowley was something else.

It really was just wiggling, when you got down to it. But the _pulse_. The _life_ in it. He couldn’t look away. For a creature that had only recently acquired legs, Crowley was very well acquainted with the movement of her hips.

How could anyone mistake her for human like this? Aziraphale watched as she raised her hands to the sky, wrists flicking outward in a flash of bronze, and tossed the veil she had placed over her head away. And—oh—oh dear. Well. He felt a deep flush claw its way up his neck and into his ears. He had never really paid attention to what the Dance of the Seven Veils was _about_. Or the dress it required. Without her shawl, he saw that the neckline of Crowley’s kaunake, which plunged all the way down to her navel, had been folded back, entirely exposing her breasts. Someone, or perhaps Crowley herself, had traced the outline of her nipples with red paint, haloing them in perfect, symmetrical dots. Deep black and pomegranate red, her skirts frothed around her ankles, revealing more body paint. A sacred geometrical design that extended over her ankles, calves, wrists, and forearms.

He looked away. Which was odd. There were plenty of women around Uruk who wore their Kaunake’s completely open. It was _common._ And he had absolutely seen Crowley shirtless before. Don’t _think about it_. It didn’t matter. It _didn’t. Matter._ Crowley was dancing and it was lovely, a beautiful performance. He was happy for her. She seemed to be enjoying herself.

Off to the side, Gilgamesh reclined in his grand chair, legs tangled together with Enkidu’s. Aziraphale watched as the Nephilim slouched low and leaned his head against the King’s shoulder. Pressed his lips against the muscle, and closed his eyes. Something in his chest writhed uncomfortably. Maybe he should get drunk again.

The music stopped. Crowley retrieved her shawl as the crowd broke out into applause, and the King toasted her with his cup. Enkidu grinned at her and cheered. As soon as the fuss died down, she made a beeline for Aziraphale, shrugging her top back up her shoulders.

“How’s _that_ for wiggling?” She said, smugly and pressed a cool cup of wine into his numb hands. “Told you I was the best dancer in Uruk.”

“I never doubted you for a second, dear.” His voice sounded very far away. Yes. Drunk would be nice. He downed the wine in one gulp and moved to get more.

The night slid by like honey. Time dilated, flexed in strange ways. The people of Uruk retreated to bed, or fell asleep where they sat in the street, drunk and happy and safe. And through all of it, an angel and a demon got well and truly _plastered._

“Been thinking about it though,” Crowley said, spilling wine across her cushions, “Might see what it’s all about.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, “ _Mnyeh_. Too much—too much to do, dear girl. Can’t go round _wasting_ time like that. Angels’re efficient. Er. S’posed t’be.”

“It’s just _sleeping, ‘_ Ziraphale. N’if I don like it—don gotta do it any more.”

“Either way. Either way, I simply _must_ get back to…to…to m’rooms. Gots lots of scribbling to do tomorrow.”

Crowley cackled, “Lemme know if you like. my additions. Did my best, I promise.”

He eyed her skeptically, “I dunno if I believe you.”

“Honest!” She leaned forward and grabbed his wrist, “’ere, I’ll show you. C’mon.” Together, they staggered off in the vague direction of Aziraphale’s home; a one bedroom cell above the best bakery in town. Because, as Crowley said, he was _predictable._

The night was cold all about them. Little bugs danced around the last of the light from the bonfires, and little birds made sleepy noises in their nests. Crowley stifled a snort at something he’d said as they approached Aziraphale’s door. And suddenly, Aziraphale didn’t feel quite so alone. And. Now that he thought about it, really didn’t want to go back to it again. He hesitated, hand on the doorknob, and turned.

“Crawly—“

“Yes.” It was not a question.

“What?”

She looked away, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “Whatever you’re gonna ask. Yes.”

Aziraphale’s lips parted, “you don’t know what I was going to ask.”

Crowley smiled, sheepishly, “doesn’t matter. can’t say no to you, Angel. You know that.”

“Sometimes I wish you would.” He reached out and took her hand. She stared at where their skin touched, where Aziraphale circled his thumb over her knuckles. She should say something. Something intelligent.

“Mmnh.”

They were standing very very close now. Crowley leaned forward, eyes wide.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed, he looked up from their hands and there was so much pain in his face that Crowley wanted to cry. “You should say no to me more, dear.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t think I will.”

Something tipped over, a strange welling up, a tumbling in each of their chests, and they collided, right there, in the back streets of Uruk.

Kissing Crowley was something entirely new. It was, Aziraphale thought, raggedly, a religious experience. He didn’t want to stop. She was, he was surprised to find, warm. And alive. She tasted like wine and hummus and faintly of fig and all he wanted in that moment was to get closer. Closer. Closer. There was light behind his eyes and all he could see was gold and red and coils of iridescent black. He tangled his fist in her hair and oh God above it was so _soft_.

“Angel,” she gasped, and the way she said it drove him absolutely mad. She took his face in her hands, nipped at his lip. Aziraphale realized belatedly that he was trembling, heat glowing through his body as he pressed her back into the door.

He couldn’t stop. And he found that he really didn’t want to.

He had always been a bit of a hedonist. She had simply made him that way.

“Mmnph—‘Ziraphale,” Crowley gripped his shoulders and pulled back just far enough that their noses touched, “are you—“

“Yes.”

She laughed, “you don’t even know what I was gonna ask, you drunk bastard.”

“can’t say no to you, Crawly.”

“Look,” she leaned forward, pressing fevered kisses to the sides of his mouth between every word, “I don’t. Want. You to get. In trouble—“ she kissed him again, soundly, hard enough to make his toes curl. “It’s hard enough finding good company up here without the whole Hereditary Enemies thing. I just. ’m drunk. You’re drunk. Mn. I think. And I don’t want to be something you regret.”

He dropped a hand to her waist and pulled her close, “Crawly. I don’t think--” 

“Yeah, but—“

“Here.” Aziraphale wrung the alcohol from his body and stepped back, reaching out to put her hair to rights, “Why dont you come inside. I’ve some nibbles and we can talk about anything you’d like. Or nothing at all. I—I know I can be quite, well. Quite silly about things like this but—and don’t you dare repeat this—I consider you one of my only true friends on earth, and I don’t think that I could ever truly regret anything I do in your company.”

Crowley gaped at him.

“Alright. Yeah. Let’s—uh. Yeah.” She nodded, “I mean, I guess I’m like. One of the only entities that will ever be consistently around because of. Y’know. Dying and the like—“

“Crawly,” he said, leaning past her to open the door, “just take the compliment.”

“Yep. Right. Will do.”

Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley noticed the object settled in on his desk. It was, ostensibly, a file. In a color that would one day come to be known as manilla, with several pages of paper inside. Paper so white, it glowed like starlight in the dark. 

It took two days before it caught Aziraphale’s eye. The first page, when he opened it, was short, almost curt. And, frustratingly obtuse.

**Angel:** ██████

 **Sphere:** 1st

 **Rank:** █████████

 **Status:** Fallen

**Sundry Information:**

██████ assigned to aid in the building and designing of the universe.

Part of Build Team 59Φ: Stars and Sundry Aesthetics.

Later, transferred to Earth as part of Build Team Eden to oversee production and cultivation of resources for project 4004A and 4004L.

Terminated for Insubordination, Cogitation, Fraternization

(see Documents 4004-EDEN, 4004L, 7A-Γ for details [ENCLOSED])

Aziraphale placed the first page back inside the folder and threw the whole thing, unread, into the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could they have possibly gotten up to in there?  
> >:3c


	5. Should My Heart Not be Wretched?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley seeks an audience with her Queen

Crowley grimaced as her toes sank into the carpet of fallen needles at her feet. She tossed her sandals to the side and grit her teeth to stalk across the silent forest floor. It was dark. Cool, in the way that all summer shadows are cool; the threat of heat hanging low against the trees, radiating out of the wood, the scent of sap thick in the still air.

It unsettled her.

“Oi, Lilith!”

Utter silence.

“Come on, don’t _skulk_. What about your other kids, eh? What about hell? Boss has been searching for you for _ages_ , why not just go home?”

_They don’t call me Lilith anymore._ There, between tree shadows, between one heartbeat and the next: a shadow, all sharp teeth and razor talons. Heaven, she was _big._ And then she was gone. Crowley’s lips parted, an attempt to catch her scent above the heady fragrance of cedar.

“Don’t they?” She had to keep her talking, catch her on the back foot.

_I’ve been collecting names, Crawly. The way you collect heartaches._

She turned, but Lilith was already gone, somewhere in the canopy far above, taking her monstrous darkness with her. _They call me Ishtar. Inanna. Astoreth. Astarte. Ereshkigal. I am many, Crawly, and I demand penance for my sorrows._

“You know, Astoreth’s got a nice ring to it, you mind if I steal it sometime?”

_Take what you want, I won’t stop you._

“Yeah. Right.” Crowley craned her neck upward, still trying to pin down Lilith’s shifting form, “Well, I’m under orders to bring you back downstairs,” she lied.

_But I_ am _downstairs, Crawly._ And there she was. Crowley turned. Lilith grinned, and the smile took up her whole face. _I’m anywhere I want to be._

She sat, perched in a bower of cedar boughs, reclining almost carelessly. And— “Oh, _Lilith…_ ”

“ _Shhhut UP!!!”_ She roared, lunging half out of her bed. Her huge, taloned foot touched the ground, leaving forearm sized gouges in the dirt. Feathers standing on end, looking dusty with red earth, she was more owl than woman, now. A kind of harpy, breasts bared, ruddy wings extended behind her shoulders in an attempt to make herself look bigger. The only thing that had remained the same about her were her eyes. Luminous, huge, and yellow in her head. Crowley had always thought it was a dig on the part of the Almighty, making her look so much like the Serpent. As if she’d known from the beginning what Lilith would do. What she’d become.

Crowley remained silent, and felt her heart break.

There were blackened tear-tracks streaking down Lilith’s pale face—long dried and mirroring the ragged scratch marks that traced down her neck and across her chest. There was blood matted in her feathers and on her lips—no surprise, given the size of the teeth in her mouth—and her hair was tangled and full of needles.

“Lilith…” Crowley stepped toward her, saw her shy away, but continued forward, hand outstretched, “please—”

“Go _away!”_ her voice rose to a pitch only reached by birds, echoing off the trees and shaking needles from above. There was a flutter, a flush of dark wings, and Crowley found herself surrounded. Owls; screech owls, hundreds of them, on every branch and bough, glaring down at her with Lilith’s eyes.

The summer shadows were suddenly much too chill.

Crowley pressed forward, trying her best to ignore the parliament surrounding her, judging her, threatening to pick her up in their talons, take her to their nests and gut her for the hatchlings to feed on. She needed to hide, get under a rock, curl up in the dark, away from the birds. Hide, hide, hide _hide—_ Crowley closed her eyes and bared her teeth, long fangs pressing against her lips as she fought to keep her knees from trembling, from turning back into a tail.

“Lilith,” it was barely a whisper. She felt her knees give out, fell to the ground, hand still held up in supplication. Still, she moved forward. _Crawled,_ on her knees, until she felt the press of feathers, until she heard the galloping tick of Lilith’s owl heart. Until she felt the shaking sobs that rolled through her queen give out in a strangled gasp.

“Crawly—” She looked up at Lilith, pupils needle-thin against the gold of her eyes, and saw her sister staring back. _“Crawly.”_

The Queen of Hell threw herself into Crowley’s arms, talons cutting through her dress and into the flesh below, and wept. Crowley held her close, blood trickling down her shoulder blades. A haunting, broken sound, ripped itself from Lilith’s lips. Crowley buried her nose in the feathers at Lilith’s shoulder and rocked her from side to side as she wailed.

One by one, shadows deepened and, eventually, one by one, the stars came out.

Days passed. Lilith laid her head in Crowley’s lap and fell into wet sniffles. Crowley let her rest, and spent her hours brushing and braiding Lilith’s hair; picking knots and brambles from its depths and casting them aside with soft _tsk_ ing noises.

“I’ve done something terrible, Crawly,” she finally rasped, opening her eyes to gaze at the moon through the trees.

“Good.”

That earned her a tiny chuckle, “No, not like that. I mean. Terrible. Awful.”

“Oh.”

“You’re the only person who knows the difference between _bad_ and _bad._ I—” Lilith wiped her nose with her palm, “I need you to promise me something.”

Crowley’s hand stilled in her hair, immediately on edge, “What is it, your majesty?”

“Shut up, Crawly, not like that.” Lilith sat up and took Crowley’s hands in hers, “Just…don’t tell anyone. Please?” And oh, Crowley was weak, so very weak. She couldn’t say no. Couldn’t do it back in the Garden, and couldn’t do it now.

“Alright,” She sighed.

Lilith smiled, a tiny thing, but Crowley took it as a victory anyway, “Thank you. I—I’ve been. I’ve been so angry. _So_ angry. I’ve done. I’ve called _him._ ”

“Wha— _him??_ ” Crowley’s blood ran colder than usual, “ _Him_ him?”

“N-no. Not. Not Lucifer, no.” Lilith frowned. “Famine. I’ve summoned him. To Uruk. He’s coming to kill the king. And the beast—the half-angel.”

Crowley’s fingers felt frigid, “You _summoned._ You _summoned_ a Horseperson?”

“Humbaba was my _son_ , Crawly. I had to do _something_.”

“Do you know how many people, how many _kids—_ other people’s _sons,_ are going to die?” Crowley tugged on one of Lilith’s braids, “You might not be a human anymore, but you _were_. Like it or not, those are _your_ people just as much as Humbaba was.”

Lilith buried her face in her hands, “I _know—_ I just. I _need_ him to suffer. Suffer like I have. I _need it. I wan’t him weeping—wrecked,”_ her shoulders hunched, feathers sprouting from her skin, rippling over her like water, _He_ killed _my son! The_ beast _made him do it! And your_ boyfriend _helped! He did it for greed! He’s turned a sin against me and he must be punished!_ Above them, the owls shuffled agitatedly, talons singing against wood in the dark. _Gilgamesh will lose the thing he loves the most, Crawly—I will take his heart from him, and I will crush it to a pulp in my fist!_

“H-hey,” Crowley reached out and clutched Lilith’s wrist, pulling her hands away from her face, “Hey, yeah, it’s alright. Look. Maybe—maybe you should. Should go home, yeah? Go spend some time with the family.

_I left myself in hell, and she sits and rules with an iron fist. I am Ishtar. I am Inanna. I am Ereshkigal. I am the queen of the dead and the dying. If I will it, the gates of hell will spew forth, and the people of Uruk will watch their dead rise and feast at the tables beside them. I am Legion._

“You are Lilith.” Crowley took her face in her hands and forced her to look at her, “You are the first woman, the first sinner, and the Queen of Hell. You are Lilith, and you are the same girl who whispered to the animals in the garden about her fears and her longings. You are one, and you are whole. You’re still you.”

The tears that streamed down Lilith’s face were white hot and sulfurous, stinging Crowley’s fingers with their heat.

“ _I—I am—I am—_ ” She took a deep gulp of cool night air, “I don’t know who I am. I—I’m scattered into so many pieces. I don’t remember. I don’t _remember.”_

“Then we’ll collect them,” Crowley said, and pulled Lilith close, cradling her head against her chest, “We can put you back together. We can do it. But first we should call off the Horseman.”

“I can’t.”

“Whuh-Why not?” Crowley pulled away to stare at her.

Lilith wiped her eyes, “It’s a matter of _punishment_ I suppose. So long as Gilgamesh remains unpunished, my call to Famine remains open, and he’ll show up.”

Crowley thought hard, “But. If Gilgamesh _were_ punished?”

“He hasn’t been.”

“But if he _were._ Then Famine would forget your contract?”

“I…suppose…”

“Then that’s it,” Crowley said, grinning wickedly at Lilith, “We just have to punish the shit out of the king.”

Lilith’s face broke into another too-wide smile, “Oh,” she breathed, “ _Oh, yes._ Yes, I can _definitely_ do that." 

"What d'you have in mind?" 

The Queen raised her eyebrows at her, an impish smirk wrapping around her lips like wire, "There's more than one way to destroy a man, darling. We know that better than anyone, don't we?" Crowley returned her grin in kind, and Lilith chuckled into her hand, "Adam always said that the idea of putting me in charge terrified him. Let Gilgamesh feel that same fear. I'll bind him to me, enslave him by the brain he keeps between his legs. We'll see if he stays so mighty then." 

Crowley leaned back against the mighty cedar and patted the earth beside her, "Well come on then, let's bang out this plan, yeah?" 

Lilith hummed in her throat and settled in close beside her, leaning to rest her head on her shoulder. Together, they stared up at the numberless stars above, and for once, felt no fear that someone else was staring back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is...a reason why the baby demons are all named Eric now. And why they all look the same.


	6. Ordain for Me as for Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some offers one doesn't refuse.

_PRINCIPALITY AZIRAPHALE—TEN YEAR REPORT: URUK AND SURROUNDING AREA._

_RECORD OF SMITINGS: 2060-2050_

_DEMON HUMBABA_

_ALL IS QUIET—HAVE BEEN INSPIRING INDUSTRY AND GOODWILL IN THE PEOPLE OF URUK. NEPHILIM ENKIDU IS—_

“ ** _KING GILGAMESH,_** ” Aziraphale lept nearly a foot in the air, palm squashing into his clay tablet as the voice rang through the air, shaking the foundations of the entire city.

“Oh dear,” he whispered, “Oh dear oh dear, what now?” and rushed to his window.

Below him, the city erupted in a panic. He saw the doors of the King’s balcony thrown open as Gilgamesh strode out onto his veranda to answer the summons, followed closely by the eight-foot-five Enkidu. Really, Aziraphale should have known that a _mile_ was a bit tall for even a half-angel.

He was expecting a giant. Perhaps another nephilim, or maybe something entirely new. What he was _not_ expecting, was _her._

For a heartbeat, Aziraphale thought that it was Crowley standing on the outer walls of Uruk, surrounded by cowering guards. And then he realized that _this_ woman was much too tall. Scraping seven feet easy, she stood tall on the battlements with her chin in the air. Even from this distance, he could see the sun glinting off her bright red hair, braided into a crown about her head.

She stepped up onto the outer ledge of the wall and opened her mouth again, “ ** _KING GILGAMESH OF URUK. YOUR GODDESS DEMANDS AN AUDIENCE WITH YOU. I AM HERE, AND YOU WILL WITNESS MY ARRIVAL._** ”

Aziraphale knew that voice. He had heard it so long ago, crying out in frustration and sorrow, deep in the shadows of Eden. _Lilith._

“Oh…damn.” He turned and rushed from his rooms, down to the grand courtyard, where Gilgamesh was assembling his retinue.

Aziraphale approached just as Lilith spread a pair of _massive_ owl’s wings—where the _hell_ had she gotten those?—lept down from the wall, and flew into the city.

The stones cracked beneath her sandled feet as she landed before the king, dressed in rich fabrics of blue and green. A golden star was inscribed on her forehead, and it shone like the sun as she approached. She wore a mantle of lion fur and an amulet of lapis. _And the meek shall inherit the earth,_ Aziraphale caught himself thinking. She looked so much different than the last time he’d seen her.

Around her shoulders, beneath the fur, he just thought he spotted a thin band of black scales tuck itself out of sight, looking guilty.

Aziraphale sighed. 

“Great goddess,” Gilgamesh rumbled. He always rumbled, no matter what he was saying. “What do you wish?” Aziraphale heard some of Gilgamesh’s retainers stifle gasps at his blunt tone. This was, after all, a woman they worshipped. A goddess.

Lilith grinned, and Aziraphale stifled a shiver.

_“Come, Gilgamesh! Be you my husband,_

_to me, grant your lusciousness._

_Be you my husband, and I will be your wife._

_I will have harnessed for you a chariot of lapis lazuli and gold,_

_with wheels of gold and yolk of electrum._

_It will be harnessed with great storming mountain mules!_

_Come into our house with the fragrance of cedar_

_and when you come into our house the doorpost and throne dais will kiss your feet!_

_Bowed down beneath you will be kings, lords, and princes._

_The Lullubu people will bring you the produce of the mountains and countryside as tribute._

_Your she-goats will bear triplets, your ewes, twins,_

_your donkey under burden will overtake the mule_

_your steed at the chariot will be bristling to gallop!_

_Your axe at the yolk will know no match!_

Give me your heart and I will make your name mighty! You, who have slew the giant Humbaba. I would give you a son—a child for a child, and all would tremble before your name!”

She really was laying it on thick. Aziraphale felt his eyebrow sneaking up his forehead as she spoke. The whole thing smacked of temptation. No one but he and Crowley would know that Humbaba was Lilith’s child. That what she demanded from Gilgamesh would be his total subjugation in the face of her desires. That she would beget herself another child and leave the king to his loneliness, once she had his heart in her fist. A fitting punishment. A heart for a heart, a child for a child.

Aziraphale really couldn’t blame her for trying.

_Gilgamesh addressed princess Ishtar, saying:_

_“What would I have to give you if I married you?_

_Do you need oil or garments for your body?_

_Do you lack anything for food or drink?_

_I would gladly feed you food fit for a god,_

_I would gladly give you wine fit for a king._

_But you are not wanting for any of these.”_

Gilgamesh sneered up at Lilith, and Aziraphale watched as Enkidu reached out to take the King’s hand.

_“May the street be your home._

_May you be clothed in garments of rags and any lusting man take his desire to you,_

_you are an oven what holds only ice!_

_A half-door that keeps out neither breeze nor blast,_

_a palace that crushes down valiant warriors,_

_an elephant who devours its own covering,_

_pitch that blackens the hands of its bearer,_

_a waterskin that soaks its holder through!_

_You are limestone that buckles out the stone wall,_

_a shoe that bites its owner’s feet!”_

Lilith rolled her eyes. “Lay it on, why don’t you?”

“You are a thoughtless lover—tales are told of the lion who you adored, and yet dug traps for, the men you loved and tossed away. The farmer, the shepherd, the goatherd. You loved the gardener,”

She straightened up, suddenly completely at attention, “No, don’t you dare—”

“and when he turned you away, struck him down on his belly and sent him to live in the shadows of his garden,”

“I—”

“forever trapped by what he loved!”

“ ** _SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH._** ” And the girl he had comforted in the garden was gone, replaced with a beast, all feathers and fangs and furious talons. She backhanded Gilgamesh and he stumbled back into Enkidu’s arms, **_YOU PRESUME MUCH, GILGAMESH. AND YET YOU KNOW LITTLE. KEEP YOUR CURSES TO YOURSELF, IF YOU VALUE THE LIVES OF YOUR PEOPLE._**

Sulfur spewed from the cracks in the stone beneath her, blue flames licking up about her ankles. Aziraphale shied away from it. He had no desire to touch hellfire today, thank you very much.

Gilgamesh raised his chin to her, headdress askew, lip split and bleeding, “You would do to me as you have done to those before me, and I will have none of it! If you offer your love, you should keep it for all the suffering it brings!”

Lilith _screamed_. Flames exploded out from her and the entire crowd buckled, covering their ears against the onslaught and ducking into doorways to avoid the flames. Aziraphale braced himself for the end. This was how he was going out. Consumed by hellfire seemed fitting.

There was a rushing in his ears, and then something dark and fast collided with his chest. The breath was knocked out of him by the body hitting him, and then again when they both collided with a nearby house, shattering the walls and punching a hole through to the back garden.

Aziraphale and his attacker tumbled, ass over wings, to a stop beneath a decrepit fig tree. How lovely it looked in the afternoon light.

“Angel! Aziraphale, you alright?” He blinked. Crowley was looming over him, straddling his chest and lightly slapping his face. She looked pale, and her eyes were wide with fear.

He sat up, unimpeded by the weight of her, and stared back through the hole they had made in the infrastructure. “Crawly, the _people_.”

“Don’t—don’t worry about it—you weren’t burned? It didn’t get you? Right? Angel?”

“I’m fine,” he said, more to calm her down than anything else, “What on _earth_ is happening?”

Crowley looked like she was on the verge of tears, still sitting on his lap with her hands clutched in his robes, “I—It wasn’t supposed to go like this—I didn’t—It wasn’t—” She looked absolutely wretched. “Humbaba—and Lilith wanted—but I—”

“Calm down, dear,” Aziraphale said, trying to soothe her, “Tell me one thing at a time.”

**_I BRING FORTH THE BULL OF HEAVEN. THE SCALES. THE HUNGRY. DEVOURER OF GRAIN AND FEASTER OF FLESH. I BRING HIM HERE SO THAT HE CAN WALK AMONG YOU. SO THAT HE WILL KILL YOU IN YOUR HOMES. I WILL KNOCK DOWN THE GATES OF HELL! I WILL SMASH THE DOOR POSTS AND LEAVE THE DOORS FLAT AND I WILL LET THE DEAD GO UP TO EAT THE LIVING AND THE DEAD WILL OVERCOME YOU, FEAST ON YOU AS YOU WITHER BY YOUR HEARTHS AND YOU WILL BE OUTNUMBERED!_ **

“Sshhhit. Oh shit, oh fuck, she’s gone. She’s gone bonkers, it’s done.”

“Crawly!” Aziraphale gripped her arms, “ _What’s going on?_ ”

“She’s yolked herself a horseman!” Crowley wailed, “They’re all _fucked!_ ”

Silence.

Crowley shuddered as a quiet breeze ruffled her hair. And on it, she could hear the soft padding of hooves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that I must warn you that I go completely poetic feral when I get the chance to get weird about food and eating. You'll see.


	7. Seven Years of Empty Husks

* * *

_The Bull of Heaven is black and bottomless._

_We pile the grain up and it devours it all, we bring it water and it is ever-thirsty. He stares at us with black eyes and the old wither at the touch of his breath. He gnaws at us. He is with us in our homes, our beds, in our very bodies. We keep the children inside, to keep them from his view, but he sneaks inside at night, chewing on their fingers in the dark and whispering in their ears of the promise of bread, the hope of water._

_He stands in the center of the city, but his shadow reaches into every corner. We have never seen him move, and yet he takes. He takes, and takes. We have given him everything. We will give him more. Is it not better for the children to never have to know his touch? And perhaps their bodies will fill this hole inside him. We do not know._ _We can only hope, as we bring them to his altar. As we close their eyes and cover their frightened faces. As we howl for meat and the murmur of grain._

_We can only hope._

* * *


	8. I Will Fill My Hands

On the first day, the Euphrates ran dry.

On the first day, the fruit withered on the vine and fell, empty, to the parched earth.

On the second day, the grain stores ran out.

On the third, the people were swallowed up entirely.

Famine stretched his hand across the land, and held fast the throats of the people.

300 people perished at his hand before the king took action. Aziraphale and Crowley watched from the eastern tower as Enkidu and Gilgamesh threw themselves against the hulking figure of Famine, wrestled him to the ground, and carved the toothy heart from his chest. The black bull lowed and thrashed, gouging the stones with his horns.

From her perch on the western wall, Lilith screamed in frustration, talons digging deep into the stone. Enkidu turned, and with a great ripping noise, separated the bull's back haunch from the rest of the body and hucked it like a discus. It sailed, end over end, trailing black blood across the city as it flew. The thick _CRACK_ of flesh on flesh and Lilith's howl turned into a strangled yelp of pain as the leg connected solidly with her diaphragm and sent her toppling off the wall and back into the desert. 

"Come on!" Enkidu screamed, "I'll make you a pretty dress of his guts!" 

Crowley narrowed her eyes as she peeked out over the windowsill. “Ooh. She's not going to be happy about that."

"I don't suppose she will," Aziraphale sighed and pat her gently on the back, "You should try and talk to her."

The little figure of Gilgamesh wrapped his arms around Enkidu's waist, and together they walked to the Euphrates--flowing once again with fresh, clear water--and washed the blood from their hands. All about them, the people of Uruk crawled, weeping from the corners, seeking the water, the food, blooming fresh from strong vines and thick branches. Life returned to Uruk. And Aziraphale and Crowley watched it all. 

Enkidu and the King walked through the streets hand in hand. 

"Did. Did they just—discorporate Famine?” Crowley's voice was small, muffled against her forearm as she pressed her cheek into the windowsill. 

“I think...possibly?" He wasn't sure. He wasn't even certain who would handle the paperwork about supplying a horseperson with a new body if they _were_ discorporated. Heaven or hell? Or a different entity entirely. Either way, the other horsepeople would never let something like this stand. 

“That can’t be good.” Crowley said.

“No,” Aziraphale said, “I don’t think it is.”

_Principality Aziraphale—Ten year Report: Uruk and surrounding area._

_Record of Smitings: 2060-2050_

_Demon Humbaba_

_Famine was brought to Uruk by Lilith. Have been confirring blessings of fertility and peace upon the people. However, the Horseman has been driven off by the king and Nephilim Enkidu. Unsure of the Adversary’s next move—but I will keep a close eye on_

Aziraphale paused. Something was different. Something not right. The people of Uruk had been celebrating for a week and a half, and the streets were running purple with wine. Crowley had not stayed to join the celebration, and Aziraphale had not had it in himself to be merry without her. Especially after. Well. It just wasn't the same. 

The scribe beside him coughed.

Aziraphale's ears turned red with embarrassment and he returned to his tablet.

The scribe coughed again, and Aziraphale wondered what he could possibly be doing to irritate the man so, but then he coughed again, and someone gasped.

“Atab, what’s wrong?!” someone shouted, Aziraphale looked over.

Red. All over Atab’s tablet. Soaking into the wet letters. He fell to the floor, shuddering, hacking coughs rolling through him, and each one painting his lips crimson.

Oh no.

_Oh, no._

Aziraphale fell to his knees beside Atab and pulled his head up into his lap. The other scribes gathered close, as Rhemu ran to fetch a physician, "Atab," Aziraphale murmured, "You're going to be all right, I promise." But it felt hollow in his chest.

One of the newer apprentice scribes knelt down beside Aziraphale and pressed her hand to Atab's heaving chest. He looked up at her, at the pale, emaciated figure, the white eyes, completely blind beneath her white lashes, and silvery hair pulled back in a thick plait over her shoulder. She smiled, softly, and the sores at the side of her mouth stretched painfully.

"Don't make promises you cannot keep, Principality," she whispered. No one else seemed to register her presence. She reached out and touched his elbow with her papery fingers, "A comfortable lie is often more damaging than a painful truth."

"You--" 

"Me. Hello." 

_Principality Aziraphale—Ten year Report: Uruk and surrounding area._

_Record of Smitings: 2060-2050_

_Demon Humbaba_

_\--------_

_Pestilence arrived in Uruk. however, upon arrival, She has met with strong resistance from King Gilgamesh and the Nephilim Enkidu. Have not had a chance to discuss orders with her, but she has made it clear she will not cease. Please advise? Was the Horseman one of our calls?_

_However, if I may suggest: King Gilgamesh and his appetites have been tempered immensely by the appearance of Enkidu. Divine mercy, patience, art, justice, and joy are rampant in Uruk—would advise leaving them be and recalling Pestilence, as they both have turned each other toward Good._

* * *

The cedar forest was dark and cold. Fall had a grip on the high mountains and blew threateningly down into the fertile valleys. Crowley bundled his robe close around himself and glared into the shadows between the trees.

“I see you, asshole,” he growled.

High in the branches, a screech owl blinked balefully down at him.

“Where is she?” The owl offered him no answers.

“I’m here, Crawly.” Lilith’s voice carried through the trees; sad, and more than a little scared. Crowley approached. She was sitting cross-legged in the shadow of a willow tree, beside a slow-moving stream. Some tributary of the Euphrates, well on its way to becoming a river.

“Quite the performance,” Crowley said, kicking a pine cone glumly.

Lilith looked over her shoulder at him, “I’m _sorry._ I. I couldn’t listen to him _say_ those things. Not about you.” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, “You’ve changed your corporation again.”

“Eh.” Crowley shrugged and sat down beside her on a root, “’felt like it.”

She nodded.

“Still feel shattered?”

“Yes,” Lilith said with a desperate kind of laugh, “Yes, I do. I—I can’t tell anymore. Anything. Can’t tell who I am half the time.”

“Mmnh.”

“I think I’m going to go home for a while. Back to hell. Reconnect with the bits of myself that I left there.” She propped her chin on her knees and looked wistfully into the water. “I think that would help.”

Crowley snickered, “Never heard of hell _helping_ anyone before.”

“First time for everything, I guess.”

Somewhere, an owl shrieked.

Lilith looked over at Crowley, “Will you come with me? Please? I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, “Sure thing, kiddo. Sure thing.”


	9. She Opened Her Ear to the Great Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes a proposition.

Aziraphale was up to his eyes in plague victims when Crowley materialized at his side, shaking the dust out of his robes. “Angel, I—whassappen?”

“Not now dear, hand me that cloth, will you?” Crowley obliged wordlessly, and Aziraphale pressed it to the woman’s lips, soaking up the blood as she spat it feebly over her chin.

When he had a moment to breathe, he turned, and used a quick miracle to vanish the blood from the creases in his knuckles, “Pestilence is not the most precice of weapons, dear. She tends to leave. Collateral.”

Crowley gaped, lips working silently for a moment before, “ _Pestilence?_ Who the _heaven_ thought it would be a good idea to bring _her?_ ”

Aziraphale made a _tsk_ sound and walked with him through the aisles of the sick, out into the still afternoon, “According to my people, heaven.”

“Your side did this?” Crowley looked absolutely dumbfounded.

“Seems so.” Aziraphale didn’t even bother to hide the displeasure in his tone. When he spoke again, Crowley could nearly see the ice crystalizing in the air around his words, “Despite being independent contractors, the horsepeople have a great deal of sway in heaven. It appears that after Famine’s discorporation, Pestilence acquired a heavenly sanction to. Well. _Take care_ of Uruk’s Nephilim problem. Needless to say, I have strict orders not to get in her way.”

“But. The _people—”_

“I _know,_ Crawly, _please!_ ” Aziraphale moaned and fidgeted with the ring on his pinky, sandals scuffing nervously in the dirt, “But what can I _do?_ the Archangel Gabriel—”

“Fucking upstart—”

“—delivered my orders himself, I-I can’t do _anything_. It is _ordained._ ”

They stood together in silence, the muffled sounds of slow death echoing from the building behind them.

“So.” Crowley said, trying his damndest not to catch Aziraphale’s wrist in his fingers, if only to stop him fidgeting, “Enkidu has to die?”

“Enkidu has to die.”

“And you have to sit and watch.”

“And I have to sit and watch.”

 _Now or never,_ Crowley thought to himself, “Unless…you have something else to do in the meantime…?”

Aziraphale harrumphed, “What _else_ can I do besides try and ease the pain, Crawly? What am I missing? Do tell.”

“You could…youcouldtakeadaytriptohell? Eh?”

The angel opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned to look at Crowley, looking utterly flummoxed, “Would you run that by me again dear?”

Crowley grinned anxiously, “take a day-trip to hell? With me? Little jaunt? Yeh? Just-just-just-just go have a poke around?”

“ _Have a poke around?_ Crawly, what are you on about?”

“Really won’t be anything more than a quick in-n-out—”

“People don’t just _poke around_ hell, dear boy.”

“You won’t even have to go _in_ , actually. Y’see, we can just-just stand out by the gates and yell. They’ll. They’ll get the idea, it’s really no big deal—”

Aziraphale held up his hand to stop him, fingers brushing against each other for a split second before Crowley shied away, “Crawly. What _exactly_ is going on here?” He felt a presence materialize to the right of him and immediately felt his heart sink. _Oh dear_.

The _last_ thing he needed was _any_ of his superiors witnessing him _fraternizing_ with the Enemy. He had been utterly, madly relieved when Gabriel had made no move to show that he could sense Crowley’s essence in Aziraphale’s room. Or even in Uruk in general. It would be rather embarrassing to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar for something so innocent as standing on the street and _talking._

If he was going to get a slap on the wrist about Crowley, it might as well be for something big.

The slap on the wrist didn’t come. Instead, he turned and saw what anyone who didn’t know would have thought was Crowley’s fraternal twin—if angels in the old days had ever been made in pairs. Lilith smiled sheepishly and wiggled her long fingers at him. “Hello, Shamash. Been a bit, eh?”

“Oh _lord_ not you too.” Aziraphale sighed and sat down on the top step with a weary gesture, “It’s enough that Gilgamesh keeps making offerings to me. Go on then. What’s your scheme this time?” He looked sharply up at both of them, matching portraits of chagrin, “Mind you, I’m not in much of a mood for wiles, so you’d better make it good.”

Lilith gathered her kaunake up around her knees and settled down at his feet. For a moment, he was back in the Garden, looking down at her as she scrambled up to the top of the wall with bloody fingers, just to see what could possibly be beyond it.

 _I want to know what’s out there,_ she panted, pointing out into the blinding sands.

 _Nothing,_ he said, _yet. But maybe someday, everything._

 _Tell me what it will be like, Aziraphale. Please?_ They sat together, heels kicking against the stone, hanging precariously out over the edge, and Lilith leaned her head on his shoulder, seeking some kind of comfort that she hadn’t yet found in Adam.

_Someday, there will be people out there. Like you._

Aziraphale shook himself. Lilith was speaking now, while Crowley slouched artistically against the wall at his side. Things were very different now. Not the time to get soft.

“And I would feel better about the whole thing if Crawly had someone to look after him when I go—”

Crowley squawked, “’ _Scuse me?_ Since when do I need looking after?”

“Since always, you dumb snake! Uriel would have had your head the _second_ you burrowed up from hell if I hadn’t hidden you.”

“You’ve got some cheek, _your majesty—_ ”

“Crawly.” Crowley shut up. Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Please, Lilith. Tell me once more. What _exactly_ is going on?”

She folded her hands in her lap and blew out her cheeks, “I’m. Not well. And I think that if I went home,” Aziraphale flinched, the idea that _anyone_ would consider Hell a home was terrifying. _What was Eden, then?_ he almost asked, but bit his tongue. “I would start feeling a bit more like myself again.”

“And why can’t you do this yourself?”

“Lucifer has been…moody lately. And the Princes of hell are always jockeying for the throne. Which is why Crawly is coming with me. To make sure that everything goes smoothly, but I don’t know what they’re going to try and pull—if anything—and I’d like to make sure that Crawly doesn’t get sucked into any…” She rolled her eyes, “family drama. All I need is for you two to take me to the doors and wait. If I don’t send a message out in a reasonable amount of time, then something’s off and you leave immediately. I’ll get out in another century or two.”

“And if you _do_ send a message out?” Aziraphale felt itchy just thinking about this scheme. About how he was absolutely going to say yes.

Lilith shrugged, “Then I’ll dismiss you back to earth to keep up appearances. It’s just a matter of convincing the guards that you’re my retinue.”

He sighed. There was really no point even pretending that he was going to say no. He could never say no to either of them. And they knew it. “Very well. Though I would like to know how you plan to disguise an Angel of the Lord as some kind of hellspawn.”

“Oh easy,” Lilith said, “I’m the Queen of Hell.”

She stood and took his face in her hands. Aziraphale stiffened, suddenly entirely on edge as she bent low toward him. At his elbow, he felt Crowley do much the same thing, and that did nothing to ease his trepidation. And then she pressed a swift kiss to his forehead, right between his eyes, and leaned back, ruffling his hair playfully.

“There.” Aziraphale looked at his hands. He appeared to be exactly the same as before.

“That’s a neat trick,” Crowley said, circling Aziraphale with sudden interest, “When’d you learn that?”

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked, “I don’t see anything.”

Crowley poked Aziraphale gently in the shoulder, “She’s put you in a shell, I guess.”

“A cocoon.” Lilith corrected, “To all occult eyes, your essence will read as hellish. You can’t see it because you’re inside it,” she addressed Crowley, “He’s still going to smell like Earth, but so do all of the newborns. He’ll be new. Never been to hell before. I had him up here.”

Crowley nodded, still circling Aziraphale, eyeing him up skeptically, “Still doesn’t _look_ very demonic does he?”

She waved him off, “Eh—we’ll just put a funny hat on him or something. They’ll never know.”

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale said, prim as ever, “But how do you expect anyone to believe that I am your son?”

Crowley sniffed, “You’d be surprised, Angel. Demons can be right stupid when the fit takes them. Should he have a code name or something? _Aziraphale_ is a bit of a dead giveaway.”

Lilith hummed to herself, then reached out and helped Aziraphale to his feet, “You’ll be Anzû. The storm-bird. That will help explain the…” she waved at him vaguely, “ozone smell.”

“Ozone?” Aziraphale pivoted between Crowley and Lilith, “I don’t smell of ozone, do I?”

“I _mean…_ ” Crowley wrung his hands, “A _little—_ not-not that I’ve really _checked._ It’s just. Most angels smell a little…snappy.” He was red up to his ears and refused to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“It’s the little bit of Divinity that won’t go away,” Lilith said, “But the name should explain it fine. Shall we?”

Aziraphale ran his hands through his hair, leaking silver into the white curls and straightened his robes. They were quite surprised to find themselves turning a tempestuous grey, suffused with gold and a little bit of bruise-purple. He looked himself over one more time and nodded, “right. Tally-ho!”

Crowley groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we detour into a ~completely different myth!!~


	10. She who goes to the Dark City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Great Above she opened her ear to the Great Below.  
> From the Great Above the goddess opened her ear to the Great Below.  
> From the Great Above Inanna opened her ear to the Great Below.  
> My Lady abandoned heaven and earth to descend to the underworld.  
> Inanna abandoned heaven and earth to descend to the underworld. 
> 
> \--The Descent of Inanna | from Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: Her Stories and Hymns of Sumer by Wolkstein and Kramer

Demons, as a rule, are not usually ones to keep up with current styles, save for Crowley. This, however, does not stop hell itself from fitting itself to the latest trends in hostile hrchitecture. That’s the thing about places like hell—and to a lesser extent, heaven. They are exactly what humanity believes them to be. At least in style.

Hell likes to keep up with human depravity, and over the years, it has undergone many self-imposed renovations, much to the dismay of its more sedentary denizens. Today, for example, hell is dark, cramped, wet, and smelling vaguely of salami—just enough to give anyone smelling it a slight headache.

In the early 1300s, hell was much as Florentinian unfortunate Dante Alighieri witnessed and recorded in his famous burn book. This is because Crowley lost a bet and was stuck for the next year and a half pretending to be a long-dead Roman poet and skirting Signore Alighieri’s intellectual advances at every turn.

Aziraphale, for his part, thought the whole thing riotously funny.

During the time of Gilgamesh, hell was a bit different. Those humans who had been unfortunate enough to witness even a sliver of it had a very specific name for it. A name that perfectly encapsulated the very despair and empty longing that echoes constantly from its belly.

They called it The _House of Dust_.

This would be the first, though not the last, time that Aziraphale stood before those gates. There was no sky. Lilith had opened a door in the cellar of a local winery and they’d descended through layers and layers of cold, lifeless rock by way of a twisting and crumpled staircase. The only light to be found was the small fistful of hellfire Lilith carried and the entire time, Crowley kept himself firmly between her and Aziraphale.

Hellfire, however, does not provide much light in general. Because it is not for the same things that mortal fire is for. Hellfire doesn’t know how to keep things warm, or cook a rabbit gently, or provide comfort via illumination. Hellfire knows only how to destroy, how to ravage, and blister and _eat._

As such, by the time they reached the last turn before the gates, Crowley had to elbow Aziraphale softly and hiss, “You’re glowing, angel. Best put it out.”

“Oh—” Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed the faint illumination of his halo. He’d been focused on keeping the hellfire away from himself to notice the delicate golden light bathing his head and shoulders. With a gesture, he put himself out and followed Crowley into the cave proper.

The House of Dust had seven gates at the time. And our motley crew found themselves before the first. Colossal things, they were; carved of glossy obsidian that reflected back on itself enough times to give one a spinning headache.

There were no carvings on it. Not at the time. _ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO WOULD ENTER HERE_ was still quite a few centuries in the future. But the doors managed to carry that same ominous weight without much decoration. Smoky shadows moved under the surface of the glass, darting in and out of view and just solid enough to make one wonder if there might _actually_ be something standing behind them in the dark.

Lilith extended her hand and rapped on the doors with the rod she’d adorned herself with before their descent. She looked every bit the queen standing there, reflected in the black doors with her head held high, adorned with jewels and silks and oils.

The sound echoed around the cavern and faded into far-off whispers.

“Who the heaven do you think you are knockin’ on these doors?” A little voice screeched from behind the gate. Crowley grunted. Lilith sighed.

“I am Lilith, the Queen of Hell, and I require passage through my realm,” she called.

There was a little pause, and then the voice shrieked out again, “If you’se really Lilith, the Maiden who has Stolen the Light, the Exiled Eve, Howler in the Desert, Horned She-Beast, Shadowed Lady, and Breaker of Chains, tell me—why the heaven are you here?”

Aziraphale watched Lilith grit her teeth and smile at the gate, “Because, _Neti,_ keeper of the first gate—the Bull of Heaven is discorporated, and I have come to give report to my husband, the Great Beast, and his court.”

“Yeah alright, but I gotta check with boss.”

Lilith tossed her hands in the air, “Neti, what the _fuck_ else do you need to hear? _You’re_ the head gatekeeper, you get to decide who comes and goes!” But there was only silence from behind the gates.

Time passed. Crowley found a big slab of basalt and plopped down on it. Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs.

Finally, after an amount of time that was precisely calculated to be as infuriating as possible without discouraging the waiter into simply walking away, the gate opened just a crack. A diminutive demon with the face of a cow peeked through the crack with a grin.

“Boss says come in. But you gotta wait for me to open the other gates.”

“Fine.” Lilith snarled and stalked past the creature and into the shadowy foyer of hell. The gate closed again, and Aziraphale and Crowley settled in for their long wait.

_When she entered the first gate,_

_From her head, the shugurra, the crown of the steppe, was removed._

_Inanna asked:_

_‘What is this?’_

_She was told:_

_‘Quiet, Inanna, the ways of the underworld are perfect._

_they may not be questioned.’_

Crowley picked at a rock that had embedded itself in his sandal.

_When she entered the second gate,_

_from her neck the small lapis beads were removed._

_Inanna asked:_

_‘What is this?’_

_She was told:_

_‘Quiet Inanna, the ways of the underworld are perfect_

_they may not be questioned.’_

Aziraphale began to wish he’d brought some snacks.

_When she entered the third gate,_

_from her breast the double strand of beads was removed._

_Inanna asked:_

_‘What is this?’_

_She was told:_

_‘Quiet Inanna, the ways of the underworld are perfect,_

_they may not be questioned.’_

“How long do you suppose it will take before she can send someone back out?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged, “Heaven if I know. It all depends on what kind of mood Neti’s in. One time, he had me stand on my head and sing the Lament of Aruru before he’d let me in.”

_When she entered the fourth gate,_

_from her chest the breast plate called ‘Let him come, let him come!’ was removed._

_Inanna asked:_

_‘What is this?’_

_She was told:_

_‘Quiet Inanna, the ways of the underworld are perfect._

_They may not be questioned.’_

“She _must_ be in by now,” Crowley groaned, flopping back across his rock in a way that would have been uncomfortable to any creature with a proper understanding of spines. Aziraphale sat on the ground beside his head and leaned back so their faces where right next to each other.

Crowley blushed, but did not move.

_When she entered the fifth gate,_

_from her wrist the gold ring was removed._

_Inanna asked:_

_‘What is this?’_

_She was told:_

_‘Quiet, Inanna, the ways of the underworld are perfect._

_They may not be questioned.’_

Aziraphale recited the hymn of Marduk from memory to raucus applause from his one-man audience.

_When she entered the sixth gate,_

_from her hand the lapis measuring rod and line was removed_

_Inanna asked:_

_‘What is this?’_

_She was told:_

_‘Quiet, Inanna, the ways of the underworld are perfect._

_They may not be questioned.’_

Crowley amused himself by putting all the rocks in the cave into stacks of five.

_When she entered the seventh gate,_

_from her body the royal robe was removed._

_Inanna asked:_

_‘What is this?’_

_She was told:_

_‘Quiet, Inanna, the ways of the underworld are perfect._

_They may not be questioned.’_

Lilith snorted, “Policy my ass.” But she tossed her copper hair and strode, tall and proud and utterly starkers through the last doorway and into the high throne room. She stopped.

There was someone sitting on the throne. And it was _not_ her dearest husband. 

It was _Beelzebub._

The prince of hell smirked beneath zir _stupid_ headdress, all glittering rubies and obsidian mirrored edges. With zir tiny legs tucked up up underneath zir butt on the massive chair, ze looked even more fly-like than usual. Lilith had the unnerving thought that the massive ruby orbs above their hairline were staring at her.

“What is the meaning of this, Beelzebub?” Lilith demanded, hands on her hips, she glared right back up at the smiling prince.

“The meaning i _zzz_ ,” ze buzzed, smugly, “Lord Lucifer ha _zzz_ decided to take some time for him _zz_ elf. And I, being the chiefe _zzzt_ of the Prince _zzz_ of Hell have been elected de-facto ruler in hi _zz_ ab _z_ en _zzz_ e.”

“De-facto—You-you’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“I am _not_ ,” ze said "We—” ze gestured at the rest of zir shadowy court, gathered behind zir ridiculous boat of a throne, “Have the throne. And we have de _zzz_ ided we can do _better._ ”

She watched as one of the sores across zir nose opened up with the force of their grin and bled pinkish pus across zir lips.

“ _Fuck_ you’re gross.”

“Many thank _zz_ , Queen Lilith.” ze stood, managing somehow to be exactly the same height as ze had been sitting down, “Now. Your e _zz_ teemed hu _zzz_ band did reque _zz_ t one thing if you ever returned from your _zzz_ abatical—Paimon, if you will e _zz_ cort the queen to her new quarter _zz_.” And there was a hand around Lilith’s bare neck, gripping down hard with thick yellow fingers. She twisted in place to look up into the demon’s face, and could barely make it out behind the massive beard that covered nearly everything but his crazed eyes. The crown on his head glittered wetly in the half-light.

“Madam.” He said, voice sounding like it was made from the grinding of two rocks against each other, and Lilith felt a strange cold creep across her skin, all the way down to her toes.

“You—” her tongue wouldn’t work anymore. With the last of her energy, she glanced down at herself and saw that all of the flesh, every last bit of softness she had squirreled away for herself over the years, had been desiccated away. Her skin was leathery and dark with rot and she could no longer move. No longer do anything but rage within the walls of her own mind, her essence trapped away inside a piece of of dead meat.

Paimon dragged her corpse through the halls of the house of dust and into one of the grand meeting halls, all black columns and high, echoing ceilings. She could do absolutely nothing as he lifted her bodily and hung her from a rusty meat hook that protruded from one of the pillars. "Rest well, mistress," He grated, "It's not forever."

This was going to be a very long century.


	11. Circle the Houses of the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'If you are gods, I will bless you.  
> If you are mortals, I will give you a gift.  
> I will give you the water-gift, the river in its fullness.'
> 
> The kurgarra and galatur answered:  
> 'We do not wish it.'
> 
> Erishkigal said:  
> 'I will give you the grain gift, the fields in harvest.'
> 
> The kugarra and galatur said:  
> 'We do not wish it.'
> 
> Erishkigal said:  
> 'Speak then! What do you wish?'
> 
> They answered:  
> 'We wish only for the corpse that hangs from the hook on the wall.' "
> 
> \--The Descent of Inanna | from Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: Her Stories and Hymns of Sumer by Wolkstein and Kramer

It was not a very long century.

It was decidedly not a century at all. Rather, only three days had passed aboveground before Crowley and Aziraphale had expended all of their surplus patience for the millennium.

“Right,” Crowley said, standing and brushing basalt dust off his bottom, “I’ll pop in and see what’s what.”

Aziraphale blustered ineffectively, “Pop in--? See here Crawly, you can’t just _pop in_ to hell.”

“Well maybe _you_ can’t.”

“Not on your _own_!”

“Do it all the time,” he shrugged, “pretty typical, actually, me popping in.”

“Stop-just _listen_ ,” Aziraphale huffed, “I’m coming with you, Crawly. I’m not going to let you _wander_ into hell to pull Lilith out of whatever pit she’s dug herself, alone!”

Crowley rounded on him, “And then what? You get behind those doors, you see what _all_ those little demons are up to and what? Redeem the Queen of Hell? Save her charred little soul? Pull her, kicking and screaming from my _filthy_ clutches?” He wiggled his fingers menacingly as he backed Aziraphale up into the far wall of the cavern, “Or maybe you’re just stupid?”

“I see what you’re trying to do, Crawly, and it won’t work.” Aziraphale sniffed.

“Angels aren’t made with a sense of self-preservation after all. What do _you_ think hell is like, Aziraphale? Mm? Aren’t you just _itching_ to find out?”

“You are trying to get me to let you do this by yourself and it won’t work.”

All the fight left Crowley in a rush and there he was; just a tiny creature. Small, where he once was large—a husk, a void where God had been. Shrunk and shriveled—desiccated by hellfire and atrophied by neglect. He was a feral thing, yowling at anyone that got close enough to touch.

He blinked. Sniffed. “Piss off.” he turned away and stalked back to his rock.

Aziraphale sighed almost fondly and followed. He sat next to Crowley, just close enough that their shoulders touched.

“My dear boy,” he sighed, “believe me when I say hell is the very _last_ place I would like to spend my Tuesday evening. But I simply will not allow you to storm hell all on your lonesome. And _not_ —” he barreled on as Crowley opened his mouth to object, “because of any Angelic designs on Lilith. I’m not worried about her. She’s always been able to take care of herself—more than anyone, really.”

“Oh—and I can’t?” he was still scrambling for any remaining shreds of pique.

“I didn’t say that, dear. I don’t _have_ to take care of you either. You can take care of yourself, obviously—”

“ _Obviously._ ” Crowley echoed faintly.

“—but it’s rather that I. Well, call me an old silly, but it’s rather that I _want_ to. Look out for you, that is.” Aziraphale focused his gaze on his hands, not daring to look at the derision that was surely scrawled across Crowley’s face.

Something that might have been his heart thumped painfully in Crowley’s chest. He swallowed, and dragged his eyes away from Aziraphale’s profile. Closed his stupid mouth before some stray imp flew into it.

The silence grew weighted in the way it tended to when Aziraphale stepped to close to the edge of the chasm inside his chest, and he backpedaled a bit, “Not that I don’t feel partially responsible for Lilith as well, I mean—” He chuckled nervously, “She was my charge before she was your queen and I—I would hate to see something unsavory happen to her.”

Crowley smiled and knocked his shoulder against Aziraphale’s, “Hell’s pretty unsavory, Angel.”

“Well— _more_ unsavory.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Oi—Who the _fuck_ keeps yelling out there?!” Screeched Neti from beyond the gates.

“Me, you great stupid idiot!” Crowley roared, still pressed gently against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

A pause. “Me who?”

“Oh for Satan’s sake—” Crowley stood and advanced on the gates, “ _Crawly?_ Serpent of Eden? The Flash Bastard? Uppity Snake? Eh?”

“Oh.” Neti said, “You.” Another pause, “Yeah, fine—get in here.”

The gates ground open. Crowley stepped back to allow them their full swing. He turned back to Aziraphale, who was still sitting on the large rock.

“Come on then.”

“Really?” Aziraphale almost wiggled with delight, but stopped himself, as that was a distinctly un-demonic thing to be doing at that juncture.

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Yes, really. Come on, you’ve got to see it for yourself at _some_ point.”

Aziraphale grinned and bobbed to his feet, following Crowley into the bowels of hell and trying his best not to glow the entire time.

Crowley and Aziraphale made it through all seven gates of the House of Dust unimpeded. For all Neti cared, they were just more commuters from the upper world.

Aziraphale decided very quickly that hell was not his cup of tea. Not least because the instant they passed through the gates, Crowley’s entire demeanor changed. He grew edges that Aziraphale was unused to seeing—sharp planes to reflect the light in more favorable ways, spikes to keep other demons at arms length.

Physically, he let his human skin slough off just a bit. Just enough to expose glittering black scales across the high planes of his cheekbones, across the backs of his now-clawed hands, the tops of his feet. His fangs elongated until they pressed gently into the skin of his lower lip in a way that Aziraphale couldn’t help but admire.

Aziraphale didn’t dare play with his corporation in such a way. He had no idea how well Lilith’s chrysalis would hold up against his tampering. He simply squared his shoulders and dug deep inside himself for the Dilligent Soldier. All hard eyes and bristling feathers.

Crowley led him past cells upon cells, all full to bursting with screaming, writhing souls. The rending of flesh plucked at his eardrums and the song of talons on bone buried itself deep in his essence, setting him immediately on edge. Hell pressed in all around him, screaming in his ears, and for the first time, he wished he had his sword back.

He barreled right into a squat demon with three rats for a head, bowling it over entirely. And he almost apologized to it, but was cut off by Crowley snarling down wordlessly into its frightened faces. It shrieked and skittered away before Aziraphale could bite his tongue on the apology.

“First lesson of hell,” Crowley growled, “Don’t ask when you can take.”

Aziraphale nodded, something bitter turning circles on the back of his tongue, and followed hot on Crowley’s heels as he waded through a swarm of imps and into a large, echoing chamber.

The room was swathed in a cloying, dusty darkness that clung to the pillars with desperate hands. At the far end of the chamber, a massive wooden throne sat imposingly on a dais under a sickly beam of what Aziraphale might have thought was sunlight—if he didn’t know any better. Behind the throne, a corpse hung lifelessly from a wicked looking hook, mirroring the other corpses that hung from every innumerable pillar. Bodies like dried gourds, rustling gently in a dusty breeze. Before the throne, an imp sat hunched, his back used as a footrest for the King. All in all, everything was pretty close to Aziraphale’s expectations of hell. Horrid. Violent. Visceral. Downright nasty. As it should have been. This _is_ hell we’re talking about.

Between the towering pillars that held up the shadowed roof, clusters of demons bobbed and hummed agitatedly. It was, Aziraphale was surprised to find, _loud._ Which made sense. Heaven had always been quiet, ever since he could remember it. It appeared that the noise had left with the Fallen, after all.

The only thing he _hadn’t_ been expecting was how _small_ satan was. Sitting in the direct center of the throne; with one leg tucked underneath zem, one leg stuck out just over the edge of the seat to put zir sandaled foot on the spine of the footstool imp, the Lord of Hell slammed zir palm against the armrest irritatedly. He had expected someone large. Someone…well, red, with horns. Not this tiny creature with messy hair and sores all across the bridge of their nose. He especially hadn’t been expecting the fly-like headdress, glittering smugly on top of their tangled thatch.

Aziraphale leaned close to Crowley, “Is that—”

“’Course not,” he whispered back, “No idea where the big guy is—Lord Beelzebub!” He sauntered forward, a massive, snakey grin plastered on his face. Beelzebub, Aziraphale supposed, glared daggers back down at him.

“Demon Crawly.” ze spat, “We have not called you for a report. Why have you brought your _zzz_ elf into our pre _zzz_ en _zz_ e?”

At zir elbow, a thin demon with a sheen of fish scales across their face narrowed their eyes at Aziraphale.

“And who—” they asked, lisping slightly around their anglerfish teeth, “is _that?_ ”

“An _excellent_ question, my Lord Dagon, which I will answer in short order, but _first_ —I have much to report from Uruk concerning the temptations of the king,”

Beelzebub pinched the bridge of zir nose and sighed heavily, “ _Zzz_ atan, your yammering i _zzz_ killing my head.”

“My ssinceressst apologies—” and oh dear he was hissing that wouldn’t do, “Lord Beelzebub. You will be delighted, just absolutely _chuffed_ to hear what I’ve been up to. Now, I have news. Things are going _oh_ so smoothly in Uruk, though I must say the unexpected hiccup with Famine gave me quite a turn, _very_ cinematic, that.”

“I hate your voi _zz_ e _zzz_ o much, Crawly.”

“And I hate to inconvenience you so, my lord, and yet I must. I have, since the dawn of the decade, inspired such lust in the King Gilgamesh as cannot be counted. His appetites are insatiable, he craves violence, women, men, food, wine—excess in all things. I have wheedled away at his celestial armor for years, and he is well and truly in my grasp. Now, you may be saying, _Crawly, but what about the city itself?_ Well!” He chuckled to himself, “There is, as I am sure your other spies have found, a Nephilim in the city of Uruk, placed there by my own careful hand. Now, as I am sure even the most unenlightened of you scum-suckers know, Nephilim are inherently unholy creatures—the union of a mortal and an angel, _truly_ devious.”

“Crawly.”

“And here’s the thing—We—“ he gestured to Aziraphale with a lazy hand, “Anzû and I—he’s new—have orchestrated this Nephilim into a _key_ position in Gilgamesh’s court, and not only that, we have inspired the most unholy of lusts between the king and this decidedly un-angelic creature, and that was his idea I tell you what, bad head on his shoulders, this kid—please—hold your applause—”

“Demon Crawly!” Beelzebub slammed zir pale palm into the seat beneath zem I will _pay you_ to shut your _zz_ tupid mouth and go back to your po _zzz_ t!”

Crowley bowed low, positioning his nose somewhere around his knees, “Oh! But of course. I graciously accept your terms, my Lord.”

Beelzebub slumped down in the chair, looking as close to relieved as a Prince of hell can get, “Free pa _zzz_ from _zz_ lag _zz_ pawn duty for a _zzz_ entury.”

“No.”

The Prince eyed him up and down, “No thumb _zzz_ crew _z_ next audit.”

“Eh. Never really minded the thumbscrews. Big thumbscrew fan, me.”

Ze sighed, “ _What_ in _Zzz_ atan’ _z_ name do you want, Crawly?”

“I want pick of the new souls.”

“...Agreed.”

“I want that one.” Crowley pointed one clawed finger directly up at the throne, and for a moment, Aziraphale thought he was pointing at Beelzebub zirself but then Crowley recalibrated his angle and swiveled to point directly into the darkness above a throng of demons, toward a body hanging limply from a hook on one of the innumerable pillars. Beelzebub went even whiter than ze already was.

“Pick a different one.”

“Nuh. Don’t want a different one, I like the look of _that_ one.” Crowley smiled, almost politely, except for the threat of his teeth, “Lively.”

“That i _zz_ the corp _zz_ e of a queen, Crawly.”

Crowley shrugged, “King, Queen, don’t care. Want it.”

The fish-demon snarled, “Lord Beelzebub desires you to choose a different soul. _Pick a different one._ ”

“Shan’t. Now, as I was saying—the Nephilim Enkidu and Gilgamesh have lain together at least twelve—”

“ _Fine!_ ” Beelzebub spat, “Get him the body, ju _z_ t get him out of here.”

“My _deepest_ disgratitude, my Lord,” Crowley scraped as a tall, spindly demon detached the body with an almost gentle touch and deposited it on the mosaic before Crowley’s feet.

“Get out, Crawly, we have other bu _z_ ine _zz_ to attend to.”

Crowley stooped low and scooped the corpse up to sling it over his shoulder. He turned, still grinning wildly and looked directly at Aziraphale, “Come on, new meat, I’ll show you where I stash these.”

As soon as they were out of the room, Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, “Second rule of hell, don’t talk unless you know you can filibuster.” He winked. Something in Aziraphale’s stomach did the same kind of wiggle the rest of him did when he had a particularly scrumptious meal.

Aziraphale pretended that his stomach wasn’t practicing jumping jacks and followed Crowley, moving father and farther away from the rising cacophony of Hell’s court and deeper into its twisting underbelly.

The darkness was all-encompassing. Hungry. Aziraphale felt it pulling at the hem of his darkened robe like a lost child as he passed. It was, he thought, lonely. Even with Crowley beside him. It was so utterly lonely that it hurt.

Crowley turned and shouldered open a tiny door at the far end of a dusty hallway. Admittedly, it didn’t open far, quickly bouncing off something inside, making Crowley swear quite colorfully, “ _Fuck_ have they made this thing _smaller?_ Here, hold her, will you?”

Aziraphale accepted the uncomfortable weight of the corpse without a word and waited as Crowley wiggled in past the door. There was a grunt, a loud grating noise, and the door opened again—just a little bit wider than before.

“That’s the best we’re gonna do for now. Come on, get in here.” 

With a sigh, Aziraphale shuffled in through the crack and deposited the body on a rickety table with a too-short leg that wobbled dangerously under the minimal weight.

“Where is this?” he asked, looking around at the cramped space, the brooms pushed up against a wall, looking like they hadn’t been used a day in their lives. Crowley mumbled something under his breath, busying himself with the limbs of the body on the table. Aziraphale looked at him sharply, “Come again?”

Crowley scuffed his toes against the floor, “…’s my office.”

“You have an _office?_ ” Aziraphale was impressed. _He_ didn’t have an office. No one below the first choir got an office. He was just a soldier. A guard of men. He didn’t need an office. And besides, he was never in heaven enough to warrant requesting one with payroll.

Crowley’s ears went red, “It’s. not much. Just a broom-closet. Then again, everyone gets just a broom-closet. Even Dagon has a broom-closet, it’s just. bigger.”

“Yes but you _have_ one.”

“’spose.”

“Might I ask why we are here?” Aziraphale pivoted on the balls of his feet to make sure the door was closed as Crowley finished putting the corpse to rights.

He made a noncommittal wiggling gesture with his hand and grunted, “Needed a place to put her. Until I can come up with a plan.”

“Lilith?”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale placed a hand beside the corpse’s shoulder and leveled Crowley with a hard stare, “are you telling me. That _this_ is Lilith?”

Crowley wiggled uncomfortably, “ _Nyyehh_ yeah. They’ve sucked her dry. Husked her. Usually they only do it on demons that get on Beelzebub’s badder side, we’ve gotta—"Crowley bounced in place, “gotta wake her up. Can’t remember quite how. Never seen it done.”

Aziraphale sat down on an overturned bucket and considered his companions, “Where do they…where do they keep the souls?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose, “In the bodies usually. All those dead blokes along the walls—they’re just trapped, their punishment is being completely aware of everything going on around them without being able to actually _do_ anything. Like I said, she’s _in there_. I just can’t remember how to pull her out.” He tapped a claw against his chin, considering Lilith’s mummified corpse.

“Well.” Aziraphale flicked a bit of bone dust off his shoulder and set his jaw, “I would imagine the first step is rehydrating her body, don’t you?”

“I…guess?”

“Come on then,” Aziraphale very gently lifted Lilith into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder, “Where is there water in hell?”

Crowley grimaced, “This is mad. Alright, come on.” He shuffled past Aziraphale and back into the tight hallways of hell, “I want you to know that I think this is _completely_ lunatic, yeah?”

“I hear you, my dear.”

“Good. ‘Cause it’s completely lunatic.” Aziraphale smiled at his retreating back and followed him with the Queen of Hell swaddled like a child in his arms. 


	12. What is this Sleep which has Seized You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "On entering the House of Dust,  
> everywhere I looked there were royal crowns gathered in heaps,  
> everywhere I listened, it was the bearers of crowns who in the past had ruled the land,  
> but who now served Anu and Enlil cooked meats,  
> served confections, and poured cool water from waterskins.  
> In the House of Dust that I entered  
> there sat the high priest and acolyte,  
> there sat the purification priest and ecstatic,  
> there sat the anointed priests of the Great Gods.  
> There sat Etana, there sat Sumukan,  
> there sat Ereshkigal, the Queen of the Netherworld."
> 
> \--The Epic of Gilgamesh

The Styx, as a rule, is _not_ the sort of river one should ever attempt to sip from. It burns like fire and glows white hot in its black sand bed, rapids frothing violently enough to pull even the most surefooted devil off his hooves. Even demons give it a wide berth in favor of the tamer sources of liquid native to Hell. But there is something to be said about the Styx as a font of infernal power. And when one is gently preparing a ritual bath for the corpse formerly known as the Queen of Hell, well. Needs must when the devil drives and all that.

Aziraphale laid Lilith out on the black banks of the Styx with all the care of a mother. They’d found a large bend in the river where the current was softer, and white hot eddies rippled softly in the cracks between the shattered obsidian rocks. Crowley busied himself miracling up a large warka vase to scoop the blazing water up from the river. Wincing as the liquid fire bit his fingertips and soaked into the knees of his robe.

“Alright, budge up,” He grunted, holding the vase at arms length. The glow coming from its mouth was like looking directly into the heart of a dying star. Aziraphale turned his face away as Crowley came closer, “Worse than hellfire, this shit. Go on—scoot, scoot--” Aziraphale shuffled backwards on his knees, away from Lilith as Crowley pulled her into his lap, cradling her gently against his chest, and levered open her mouth with some difficulty. He had to jam his long fingers between her mummified lips and tug. Rigor mortis had already set in and every bend they had to maneuver out of her body made her stiff muscles crack and give in ways that neither of them would be comfortable with if Lilith had been a human woman.

Her jaw gave with an unsavory crunch and Crowley sighed, long fingers circling her chin and tipping her head back as he poured the burning water between her teeth. Ten fraught seconds passed as the water boiled down her throat, welling slightly between her lips and dribbling out over Crowley’s fingers, his wrist, raising white welts wherever it touched.

“Come on, come on…” He whispered through gritted teeth.

Aziraphale couldn’t help it. He prayed.

With a shuddering, hacking cough, life returned to Lilith’s body. She thrashed in Crowley’s arms, scratching at the hand at her jaw as she vomited up water and dust. Her chest heaved and she kicked out, nearly connecting with Aziraphale’s knee and spraying black sand everywhere.

Crowley released her, tossing aside the vase of water and settling for resting an awkward hand on her heaving back. “That’s more like it, yeah?”

“ _Fuck_!” she coughed, “Oh fucking shit—fuck—” She collapsed back into coughs, knuckles white in the dirt.

They let her collect herself, waiting for her coughs to die down. Aziraphale grinned, looking utterly chuffed by their success. He smiled indulgently at Crowley from across Lilith’s shaking shoulders. Crowley shot him a tired glare in response, begging him. Please, don’t—

“I believe what people say at this juncture is: _I told you so,_ ” he said, so incredibly satisfied with himself that Crowley couldn’t help the wave of fondness that rippled out from him. He really was hopeless, wasn’t he?

Lilith pulled the shadows of hell around her shoulders, tugging a robe out of the fabric of the darkness around them and pulling it over herself with a disgruntled sigh. “Well.” She croaked, “’suppose that could have gone better.”

Aziraphale hummed, still pinning Crowley in place with his smug look.

“Shut up,” Crowley growled, pushing himself to his feet, “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Agreed,” Aziraphale said.

Lilith nodded, “Have to say though,” She grinned, pushing her hair back with a pale hand, “I feel much better now.”

“Oh excellent,” Aziraphale focused one of his blinding smiles on her, “Will you be remaining in hell, then?”

She snorted, “Oh, fuck no. I hate it here. I don't know _what_ I was thinking, coming back here. Beelzebub can sit zir bony ass on the throne for the rest of time for all I care.” The obsidian shadows rippled once again, and a black diadem coalesced on her brow, dark, glittering, and cold, “Don’t need a throne to be queen. I’ve got better things to do anyway.”

“Do you now?” The voice was all around them, whispering in the dark. Aziraphale watched as Crowley went pale, hand grasping at his sleeve, fingers shaking hard; pulling both of them into the dirt, bowing, kneeling to the darkness. The voice echoed back and forth until it came to rest in a patch of black shadow, a grinning crescent of a smile bloomed in the shadows and soon, the rest of the man came into view as well. This was bad. Very bad. Catastrophically bad. Aziraphale did his very best to pretend not to exist and hoped that the waves of fear radiating off his shoulders would be no more potent than any other average demon upon witnessing the physical form of evil. 

“Darling,” Satan said, spreading his hands and approaching Lilith with all the humility of a man at confession, “You _wound_ me.”

Crowley was shaking in his boots—metaphorically, because he was only wearing sandals. There was something so _strange_ , so bizarre about the experience, that he couldn’t quite find it in himself to really be anything more than slightly shook. That was _Him._ The Adversary; and not in the way that Crowley was the adversary—the wily enemy who was too clever for his own good and too charming to properly be rid of. This was _Lucifer_ , Satan, Old Scratch, the Witchfather, the Devil himself. The very air rippled with the weight of his essence. A black hole crammed inside the shape of a man, sucking all matter in towards itself without prejudice.

If one looked at exactly the right angle, one could even see the thinnest strings extending into the darkness from Lucifer’s body. Of course, he was puppeting the body. Satan could never fit the power of his complete essence into a mortal form, the body would be rent down the seams, hellish corruption spreading out from the very atoms of it if he ever tried. Satan himself was Elsewhere, steering the body like a particularly sophisticated marionette.

Lilith tossed her head, staring up into the Devil’s face without fear, “Good,” she snarled, “You deserve a little wounding, all you've done to me and mine.”

He laughed, a tiny, breathless huff of disbelief, "And what, my love, have I done?"

"My own recent condition aside, you mean? Because I very distinctly recall Beelzebub stating that my punishment was on _your_ orders."

"Yes, aside from that, I would like to know what I've done this time to earn your ire." 

She snorted, and Aziraphale swore he could see sparks of hellfire, "My _children,_ Lucifer. Or have you forgotten about them as well as me? Because they're _dying_ , you selfish prick, and _nobody but me_ is doing anything about it!" The edges of her hair glowed, embers drifting from her curls and up into the darkness, "And when I come home--when I try to pick up the pieces you _trap me?_ Have me _husked_ and put on display in your throne room?" 

Lucifer ignored Crowley and Aziraphale completely, striding to circle Lilith once, twice, still grinning that impossible grin, starlight hair shining against the black of hell, _“Our_ children," he said, "are created for one purpose, and that is to _serve_. Hell. Me. You. They serve, darling, and you knew that when you married me." He shook his head, almost sadly, "It is unfortunate but it is true, and I have never told you otherwise. So, tell me: where did all this hate come from, wife? Have I not given you everything you desired? All the kingdoms of the world at your disposal? All the blood and meat and _delicious_ sin? Do you not have the power of hell in your grasp? Do you not have me wrapped around your very finger?”

“I do.”

“And is this not enough for you?” He walked up behind her, rested his chin on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist, “What more would you ask of me, dearest?”

Lilith smiled a sharp little smile and pressed her lips against his temple, “There is always more. You know us humans. Greedy.”

“You’ve always liked them too much.”

“You know better than most how hard it is to shake the circumstances of your birth, don’t you, Helel? Hm?”

He squeezed her a little tighter, half tease, half threat, and retreated, “Crawly,” he said, not looking back at them, “You and the new spawn, escort the Queen back to the mortal realm. I am sure she is eager to return to her...adventures.”

Lilith smiled and patted him on the cheek, “You know me so well, darling.”

Satan looked, to Aziraphale’s surprise, more disgruntled than anything. He leaned in close, lips grazing against Lilith’s ear, and whispered something too quiet for either he or Crowley to hear. Some of the tension left Lilith’s shoulders, and she reached up to tousle his hair, "Bastard." 

“Fair enough.” He grinned, “Go on then, love. Raise hell.” He winked, and vanished back into the darkness.

A heartbeat passed, the tension in Lilith’s shoulders didn’t ebb. Without turning, she said, “Well then boys, you heard our Lord. Let us ascend back to the surface.”

Crowley stood, shakily, and helped Aziraphale to his feet, “Yup. _Mngh._ Yeah—yeah, let’s.” And with a rush like a too-fast elevator, they burrowed up from beneath the hard earth of the little cellar of the bakery in Uruk.

Lilith brushed off her black robes, flicked a beetle from her shoulder. Then toppled over onto all fours with a panicked sigh, “Holy shit—” she gasped, “Holy _shit_ that was close.”

“ _Close?_ ” Crowley whimpered, falling to his knees beside her, “Close. That was— _whoo-ee._ I felt the _breeze_ off that one. Shit.”

Aziraphale fluffed his hair with a flick of his wrist, shaking the silver out of it like dust, and snapped the fabric of his robe back to white before moving to settle himself between the two panicked demons.

“I would like to make it known,” he said, folding his hands in his lap, “that I did not care for that one bit.”

They all grinned at each other weakly, stomachs still turning. Lilith’s lips twisted. Crowley wobbled where he sat. Aziraphale sniffed primly.

Lilith nodded. Crowley swallowed hard. Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs. Then, as if on cue they all fell into fits of panicked laughter. Crowley leaned back against the wall, barely able to sit up straight with the force of his giggles, while Lilith cackled, leaning across Aziraphale’s lap to grip Crowley’s knee, trying to keep her eyes from watering. Aziraphale just grinned, little bubbling laughs skipping their way up his throat as they fell all over each other.

“Never again—” Crowley gasped, “ _Never_ again, un-ho-ley shit.”

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale pressed his hand into his lips to muffle his giggles.

Lilith kicked her heels against the dirt, “I was _so fucking scared_ , oh—oh man. I was certain he’d keep me down there, I—” she collapsed into cackles again, “Oh my _Satan_ , that was _terrifying!_ ”

Aziraphale sighed, fighting back the remnants of hysteria, “Oh dear. Oh. Oh golly, I need a drink.”

“Yes.” Crowley said, “Drinks.”

“Drinks,” Lilith echoed, wiping tears from her eyes, “Drinks for at least a week straight.”

Eventually, they stood and made their way up from the cellar and out into the empty street. Lilith wiggled her way between Azraphale and Crowley, looping her arms through theirs to walk in stride with them, “You know,” she said, “the Chinese have this _lovely_ rice mead. Fucks you _right up_ if you have enough of it. We could pop over for a bit—if…you…” she trailed off as their steps faltered.

The quiet of the city hung around them like a collar. There was no one on the streets. At the end of the boulevard, the palace walls were hung with white cloths, rippling gently in the breeze. Every lantern had been put out. By the looks of it, Uruk had been completely abandoned.

“Oh...dear.” Aziraphale let Lilith and Crowley’s arms drop, and hustled up the steps toward the palace.

Pestilence sat on the top step into the palace proper, tapping her chipped fingernails against the lapis threshold. Her white eyes stared blindly out at the empty city, stringy hair hanging lank and dry around her shoulders.

She stood as Aziraphale bustled toward her, smiling with all of her rotting teeth, “You’re back,” she said.

Aziraphale ignored her, pushed past her and into the darkened palace, following the bright pulses of love that echoed through the cavernous hallways. He turned one last corner, nearly skidding on the smooth floor and ended up toe to toe with Pestilence once again.

“Do get out of my way,” he snapped, trying to bob around her.

She cocked her head, “You liked him. Cared for him. Didn’t you?”

“I—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” She rested her papery hand on his shoulder and he shuddered, “I’ll let you say goodbye. A favor. From one servant of heaven to another.”

And then she was gone. Aziraphale barreled through the massive cedar door, so recently installed by the king himself, carved with images of giants and beasts, and into the royal quarters.

Love.

So much of it, it nearly knocked him flat. But it was black and syrupy in his mouth as he tasted it. Curdled. Broken. Grieving. He didn't realize that he was weeping until the salt registered on his tongue.

“It had to happen, Angel,” He only barely noticed that Crowley was still beside him, having sprinted into the palace with him. Having kept pace the entire time, as he always did. “There wasn’t anything you or I could do.”

He watched the shadow of Gilgamesh’s shoulders through the white curtains around the royal bed, heaving with exhausted sobs, and felt his heart break.

“I know,” he said, sadly, “but it still hurts.”

He gripped Crowley's hand, shaking against his tears. And Crowley, bless him, didn't let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter we head back into Gilgamesh's story. I apologize for the delay on this one, but it's been SUCH a wild time lately. <3 Thanks for your patience.


	13. I am Afraid of Death, and I Wander the Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Enkidu, my friend, the swift mule, fleet wild ass of the mountain,  
> panther of the wilderness,  
> after we joined together and went up into the mountain,  
> fought the Bull of Heaven and killed it,  
> and overwhelmed Humbaba, who lived in the Cedar Forest,  
> now what is this sleep which has seized you?  
> You have turned dark and do not hear me!"
> 
> \--The Epic of Gilgamesh, Tablet VIII

White penants rippled somberly in the still summer air, heavy with the stench of death from the clogged graveyards on the city’s outer limits. The people mirrored the drapery—dressed in white from head to toe, deep in mourning alongside their king.

Crowley blew a long trail of smoke from between her lips and sighed. She had been called to the King’s bedchambers in the night, held him through his shaking like a child just launched from a nightmare. It had been days before anyone could get close enough to take Enkidu’s body away to be buried. Long enough for the smell to set in, long enough for him to begin to rot.

 _“What am I going to do without him, Shamhat?”_ Gilgamesh had wailed, tangling his fingers in his hair, _“How do I make it stop hurting so?”_

 _“You don’t.”_ And she had pulled him close, pressed his forehead to hers and held him there until the fight left him, _“I’m sorry, my king. But you don’t.”_

In the quiet after he had collected himself, he sat, drinking his wine and looking hollowly out the window at the moon, swollen and pressed up against the peaks of the far off mountains. It looked like someone had taken a spoon and scooped out the heart of him, hollowed him like a gourd. _“He cursed you,”_ he almost whispered it into his cup, _“At the end. For bringing him here. But he didn’t mean it.”_ more wine, _“took it back after a while. I think the sickness was playing with his mind. He kept talking to people I couldn’t see. And maybe they were there, I don’t know. The gods appear to whoever they please, however they please. But—But I cannot help but feel as though this is a place where the gods no longer tread.”_ He sighed, _“They wanted to punish me, and they have. They are done with me now.”_

Crowley had stayed with him, drinking in silence until the first pink rays of sunlight lit up the room.

“My dear?”

She shifted in her seat, looking across to Aziraphale, with his red eyes and his pale face, “What was that?” She hadn’t been listening.

Aziraphale smiled sadly, “I asked if you were being reassigned yet. I believe I am supposed to head up to Nineveh soon, I—” he sighed, “I was just wondering if you knew where you’ll be headed.”

“Heaven if I know,” Crowley took another long drag from her pipe and sent the smoke spiraling up toward the lapis-covered ceiling above them, “My lot don’t usually send me places unless there’s something specific to be done. I’m assumed to know how to get into trouble on my own most centuries.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale shifted in his seat to grab a bit of sweet bread from the plate on the table between them. Usually, there was music in the king’s salons. But not today.

It was very strange, he thought, to see Crowley in white. White kaunake, white shaul obscuring most of her copper-bright hair. It had the very strange effect of making her skin look darker than usual while at the same time looking more tired and wan than black ever made her seem. White for mourning. White for bones and dust and death.

He didn’t think he liked it very much.

“Any news from the king?” He asked.

“He’s planning a trip to Mashu soon. Some kind of pilgrimage.”

Aziraphale frowned a tiny frown, “Isn’t Noah still up that way?”

She shrugged, “You know I don’t keep track of stuff like that,” she lied. If only he hadn’t helped them get rid of Humbaba. If only he’d kept his mouth shut about Enkidu’s defeat of Famine. But how was he to know that Enkidu would turn out to be the greatest blessing any of them could have asked for? Or that Gilgamesh would mourn him so fiercely as to make his entire city into a tomb? Or that watching the king bent with anguish over Enkidu’s eight-foot-tall form, screams barely bit back from between shaking lips, would make something sullen and scared wriggle uncomfortably in Aziraphale’s chest.

He had known. Somewhere, he had known. It was in the way they looked at each other, he supposed. And he had pushed it aside, afraid. Because he was afraid. Of what? He had no idea. Afraid of Heaven’s wrath? Well, as its main executor on earth that was only wise, he knew what Heaven was capable of firsthand. Afraid of being reassigned? Of having to leave Uruk, and, at the same time, Crowley? Possibly. He _liked_ Crowley, he’d come to terms with that. They were friends. But it still didn’t explain the panic in his chest every time Crowley had to pop off to hell to give a report, nor the relief that swept over him every time she returned unscathed.

“When is he leaving for Mashu? I’d like to give him a blessing.” Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked at him sadly, “Oh—wh-he’s already gone, Aziraphale. Left at dawn. Tried to get him to stay, but he wouldn’t see sense. Stripped all his clothes off and left dressed in rags.”

“Ah. I see.”

“He’ll. He’ll be fine.”

“Yes, I’m sure he will be. Quite a strong lad, that Gilgamesh.”

“We shouldn’t worry about him,” Crowley said.

“No. We shouldn’t,” Aziraphale agreed, worriedly.

B.C. 2057

_Four leagues he traveled…_

_dense was the darkness, light there was none,_

_neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow him to see._

_Five leagues he traveled…_

_dense was the darkness, light there was none,_

_neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow him to see._

_Six leagues he traveled…_

_dense was the darkness, light there was none,_

_neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow him to see._

_Seven leagues he traveled…_

_dense was the darkness, light there was none,_

_neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow him to see._

_Eight leagues he traveled…_

_dense was the darkness, light there was none,_

_neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow him to see._

_Nine leagues he traveled…_

_the North Wind. It licked at his face,_

_dense was the darkness, light there was none,_

_neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow him to see._

_Ten leagues he traveled…_

_…is near…_

_four leagues._

_Eleven leagues he traveled and came out before the sunrise._

_Twelve leagues he traveled and it grew brilliant_

_…a garden…it bears lapis lazuli as foliage,_

_bearing fruit, a delight to look upon!_

“Shit, I hope he hasn’t _died_ ,” Crowley said, opening the shutters on the little cliffside house she and Aziraphale had set up in hopes of catching Gilgamesh on his pilgrimage down from the mountains. The fresh salt breeze filled the kitchen, ruffling the leaves of the herbs she had drying on a rack above the fire.

Aziraphale ducked in through the back door, a few cords of wood tucked up under his arms, and bent to stack them neatly in the corner, “He hasn’t.”

“But how do you _know_ ,” She threw a rag over her shoulder and set to work fiddling with the fermenting vat Aziraphale had miracled into existence for her when they’d realized that passing travelers might be suspicious if the little inn had an overstock of wine and nothing to make it with.

She had found she quite liked it, actually—wine making. It was a good distraction from the itch of impatience that hummed right below the surface of her skin at all hours. Even if Aziraphale hadn’t been able to help himself and made the blessed thing out of gold. Silly, posh angel. Crowley smiled to herself and passed Aziraphale a cup of wine, “He could have kicked it up on the pass for all we know—there’s _lions_ and-and-and I dunno altitude or something humans don’t like.”

“I like to think,” Aziraphale said, primly, settling himself down on a stool near the table, “that we would know if Gilgamesh had died.”

Crowley sighed, “And who’s gonna tell us all the way out here?”

He gave her one of his infuriatingly serene smiles and sipped at his wine, offering nothing more by way of answer.

She _tsk_ ed at him, trying not to look overly fond and failing miserably.

Outside, the sun sank down into the sea. Crowley went around the little house and lit the lamps to keep the dark out. They hadn’t had any visitors in a few weeks, but who knew what the night would bring.

She stopped to fix the shutters in the front room, one of which was rattling around a bit in the faint spring breeze, and took a moment to lean against the sill and regard her domain. And it _was_ her domain. Well—hers and Aziraphale’s. But the garden was hers, really, as it had always been. Some things not even sulfur could wash out.

There was even a fig tree, resplendent and blooming in the twilight.

 _“Shouldn’t you plant apples?”_ Aziraphale had ribbed her when they’d first set the place up.

 _“Absolutely not—”_ she’d said, _“that was a miscommunication in a memo. I told_ _them. I_ told _them to plant figs. And did they listen to me? No. Gave me the seeds and told me to plant it and wasn’t it just a bloody kick in the pants when it was_ apples _of all things.”_

It was nice, she thought, to be able to dig her hands into the earth again. To feel the life in it. Bring it out with diligence and care. It was, she’d decided, its own kind of holiness. One of the few that hadn’t been taken from her.

It almost made her feel blessed again. Almost.

And maybe almost was good enough for now.

_You are my Gardener. There riseth blossoms where you tread._

Something shifted in the shadows of the trees beyond the garden, and Crowley craned her neck to see it properly.

It was a lumbering, shaggy thing, making deep lowing noises like a bear in pain. But—no it was a man. It walked on two legs and as he approached she could see the keen glint in his eyes. He looked, she thought, like a highwayman.

She did _not_ want to deal with that tonight.

Crowley closed the shutters and padded to the front door, throwing the lock into place with a _Clack_ that made her hair stand on end. The man outside stopped walking. He had absolutely heard her lock the door.

“Ssshhhit.”

“Crawly? What’s wrong?” Aziraphale called from the kitchen. Crowley didn’t answer.

The silence was shattered by a hammering of a fist on the door. Crowley backpedaled, nearly tripping over her skirts and swearing a blue streak as she lept away from the shaking door.

“Tavern-keeper!” The man called, still banging away on her door, “What have you seen that made you bolt your door to me? What frightens you so?” Crowley swallowed, “If you do not let me in, I will break your door and smash the lock! I have been lost for many months now, lost in the wilderness! Let me in!”

Crowley cleared her throat, “No thanks mate—I’d rather not, actually!” There was a presence at her back and she almost jumped, but Aziraphale placed a calming hand on her shoulder and stood beside her, glaring at the door.

“Let me in!” the man cried, sounding more desperate than angry.

_“I am Gilgamesh! I killed the Guardian!_

_I destroyed Humbaba who lived in the Cedar Forest!_

_I slew lions in the mountain passes!  
I grappled with the Bull that camed own from heaven and slew him!” _

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a skeptical glance. “If you’re Gilgamesh,” Crowley called, “Why do you look like shit?” Aziraphale elbowed her and she waved him off, “Shouldn’t you look like a king or something? You look terrible!”

They heard a kind of half-sob come from behind the door, and the man spoke again;

_“Tavern keeper, should not my cheeks be emaciated?_

_should not my heart be wretched, my features not haggard?_

_should there not be sadness deep within me?_

_Should I not look like one who has been traveling a long distance_

_and should ice and heat not have seared my face?_

_Should I not roam the wilderness?_

_My friend, the wild ass who chased the wild donkey, panther of the wilderness,_

_Enkidu, the wild ass who chased the wild donkey, panther of the wilderness,_

_we have joined together and went up into the mountain._

_We grappled with and killed the Bull of Heaven,_

_we destroyed Humbaba who lived in the Cedar Forest,_

_we slew lions in the mountain passes!_

_My friend, whom I love deeply, who went through every hardship with me,_

_Enkidu, whom I love deeply…_

Another sob. Aziraphale’s grip tightened on Crowley’s shoulder.

_The fate of mankind has overtaken him._

_Six days and seven nights I mourned over him and would not allow him to be buried_

_until a maggot fell out of his nose! I was terrified by his appearance,_

_I began to fear death, and so roam the wilderness._

_The issue of my friend oppresses me, so I have been roaming long trails through the wild._

Aziraphale moved forward and pulled the door open for the man, who nearly fell in as it opened.

“Come inside and sit, dear boy.” Aziraphale said, and took the king’s arm. Gilgamesh, for it was Gilgamesh, nearly wept with relief as he helped him into the kitchen and produced bread and wine from their stores. Crowley watched from the shadows, but sat and joined them at the table once Gilgamesh had been given sustenance.

He didn’t appear to recognize either of them. Which was fine. Easier that way, really.

“What happened,” she asked, and pushed another loaf of bread toward the starving king, “Tell us everything.”

Gilgamesh burst into tears.

After, the king having been supplied with a bed to sleep in for the night and plenty of food and water to strengthen his weakened body, Aziraphale and Crowley sat together on the cliffs and watched the sea throw itself against them in its fury. 

"Do you think he's going to be alright?" Aziraphale asked. 

"No idea," Crowley said, "I mean it's not going to work--"

"Oh absolutely not," Aziraphale agreed, "he can't just _become_ immortal. It. Doesn't work like that." 

Crowley nodded, "Yeah, I mean, Noah's _old._ But he's not immortal. Not like he can just _tell_ him how to be old." 

"And," Aziraphale hesitated, "I'm not entirely sure Gilgamesh is in his right mind, I mean the--"

"--scorpion men? On the mountain pass? Yeah. I think he's cracked." 

"Quite." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long. But! We're nearing the end now. 
> 
> Gilgamesh meets with some really chill scorpion men up on the mountains and after he tells them what he's after, they cheer him on and send him on his way. It's a bit far-fetched, even for Aziraphale and Crowley's taste.


	14. For How Long Do We Build A Household?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The gate of grief must be bolted shut, sealed with pitch and bitumen!"  
> -Gilgamesh to Utanapishtim, The Epic of Gilgamesh

High King Gilgamesh of Uruk, Son of King Lugalbanda and the goddess Rimat-Ninsun, the Wild Cow, He who is called _The Raging Flood Wave,_ and the _Goring Wild Bull_ slipped out of the seaside inn in the grey hours before dawn, dressed in clothes procured for him by the tavern keeper and her husband. 

Not that the clothes had existed before Gilgamesh needed them. But Aziraphale had pulled them from a surprised linen basket and presented them to the young king nonetheless. Crowley and Aziraphale knew he had left, but they decided not to pursue him too closely. Better to watch from afar. The kind of comfort he sought could not be found in heaven or in hell, after all. It was humanity, as it always was and always will be, that would save Gilgamesh in the end. 

“Flip you for him?” Crowley said, holding out a coin. Aziraphale sighed. 

* * *

Shem was older than he had any right to be at this point, and he knew it. And when one is as old as that, one learns to trust one’s gut. So, in the dark of night, he had crossed the water in his little boat and moored it in the reeds on the other side of the great delta where the Tigris tumbled out into the ocean that would one day come to be known as the Persian Gulf. And there he sat, waiting until his tailbone became sore. 

His guest was late, or perhaps was trying to sneak up on him. 

Fine. 

With a sigh, Shem stood and waded into the shallows, leaving his boat tied up at the ramshackle stone pylons that he and his father had erected so many years ago on their first crossing. If his guest was going to be so rude as to keep him waiting, he would at least have some fun out of it. 

There had been a patch of mint when he had first arrived, and every year after it had grown and grown. Now, it nearly swallowed the shore entirely with its fragrant leaves, serrated and softly dripping with dew in the starlight. Shem took a leaf and twisted it in his fingers, letting the sharp smell rise up into the morning air, breathing deeply the fresh scent of the earth. 

He smiled to himself and put the leaf on his tongue, idly taking in the morning breeze. 

A sudden thud. A sharp splash. Shem spun on his heels and looked back to see the pylons that moored his boat crumbled into rubble in the water, taking the guide rope that stretched back across the misty water with it. 

“What are you doing to my boat, boy?” He called. “If you want to cross the delta so bad, you just had to ask!” 

Gilgamesh pulled his axe out of the nearest pylon and glared. “I will cross the Waters of Death by my own hand.” 

Shem sighed. He waded into the water and sat on a ruined pylon, keeping a sharp eye on his drifting boat, “You think you can cross the delta like that? You look like death warmed over, my lad. You’ll never make it.” 

“I am grieving, ferryman. Leave me be. I am looking for the way to Utanapishtim. Show me how to find him and I will leave. If possible, I will cross the delta. If not, I will go around through the wilderness.” 

“Your way to cross the delta is floating away as we speak. You smashed my pylons and now my guide rope across the delta has sunk beneath the waves.” Shem smiled serenely at Gilgamesh, “If you want to cross, you’ll need punting poles now. My rope let me pull myself across the delta with ease. You’ll have to push with a stick.” 

Gilgamesh went pale, “What?” 

Shem leaned back on his crumbled seat and gestured at the woods behind him with his mint stalk, “Go on then, there’s plenty of trees to make a punting pole. I’ll watch the boat while you work.” The king swallowed, then turned, chastened, and walked off toward the woods. Shem grinned, “If I remember rightly,” he called after the retreating figure, “it takes about 300 punting poles to get across! Best get to work!” 

The sun was high in the sky above them when Gilgamesh returned, arms full of raggedy poles. Shem boarded the boat behind him and sat, content to let the younger man do the heavy work of getting them across the delta. 

_Gilgamesh launched the magillu boat and they sailed away._

_by the third day they had traveled a stretch of a month and a half and_

_Urshanabi arrived at the Waters of Death._

_Urshanabi said to Gilgamesh: “Hold back Gilgamesh, take a punting pole,_

_but your hand must not pass over the Waters of Death!_

_Take a second, Gilgamesh! A third! and a fourth pole!_

_Take a fifth, Gilgamesh! a sixth! and a seventh pole!_

_Take an eighth, Gilgamesh! a ninth! and a tenth pole!_

_Take an eleventh, Gilgamesh! and a twelfth pole!_

_In twice 60 rods, Gilgamesh had used up the punting poles._

Shem peered up at him from under the hand he used to shade his eyes, “I told you you needed 300. What will you do now?” 

Gilgamesh grit his teeth. 

_Then he loosened his waistcloth …_

_Gilgamesh stripped off his garment and held it up on the mast with his arms._

It had been too big for him, anyway, he thought, as he affixed the makeshift sail to the mast. Soon, the wind caught it and the little boat sailed smoothly across the remaining waters and into the reeds on the other side. 

Shem leapt into the water and tied the boat to its moorings. “Go on,” he said to Gilgamesh, “He’s waiting for you.” 

We see an elderly man, now. He descends from his house high in the hills by way of a rickety path and walks to meet his son and the man who they were waiting for. God told them to expect him, after all. And they’d gotten on quite well listening to what God had to say up until now. After all, they were alive. They were alive here in the hills, in their house built from the wood of what once was a boat. _The_ boat, if you haven’t caught on yet. 

Noah, who in this era was called Utanapishtim, sat by the shore of the sea and listened to the sorrows of Gilgamesh. Listened as the boy, for he really was no more than a boy in Noah’s estimation, shook with fear and recounted his story of love and death and pain and joy. 

“I am afraid, father.” Gilgamesh said, “I am afraid to die. I fear it more than anything I have ever faced before. I cannot bear it.” He looked up at Noah then, desperate and grieving, “Tell me how you have done it--tell me how I can live forever and never hurt like this again.”

Noah sat in silence for a long while. Then, he leaned close to the king, and placed a hand upon his shoulder. 

Come close now for he is whispering, and listen to what he has to say: 

_No one can see death, no one can see the face of death,_

_no one can hear the voice of death, yet there is savage death that snaps off mankind._

_For how long do we build a household? For how long do we seal a document?_

_For how long do brothers share the inheritance?_

_For how long is there to be jealousy in the land?_

_For how long has the river risen and brought the overflowing waters,_

_so that dragonflies drift down the river?_

_The face that could gaze upon the face of the Sun has never existed ever!_

_How alike are the sleeping and the dead._

_The image of death cannot be depicted_

_Yes, you are a human being, a man!_

_(…)_

_The Gods established life and death_

_but they did not make known the day of our death._

And Noah drew Gilgamesh to his feet and walked about the shore with him. He told to him then the story of the Flood, of how, when the waters receded, God gave him and his family lives longer than any who would come after. And Gilgamesh wept for fear of dying, for how could he assemble his gods to grant him such a gift? 

“A test,” Noah said, for there would always be a test. “To die is alike to sleep. Train yourself, King of Uruk, and leave all sleep behind you. And you will be one step closer to deathlessness.” 

It was a test, as many tend to be, that he was designed to fail. Some people are of the opinion that God’s tests teach you more if you fail them.

Some people would be correct. 

Gilgamesh fell asleep that night on the high hills behind the house of Noah. And when he was awoken, he was distraught at his failure in the eyes of his gods. But Noah and Shem took him inside and saw that he was seen to. Naamah, wife of Noah, fed them--bread and beer and wine and fruit--and Shem drew the king a bath and let him rest as he needed in the safety of their house, a house that--despite many years--still smelled vaguely of animals. 

And the grief in Gilgamesh’s chest loosened by the barest millimetre. And the pain was not so bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oough this one took some finagling. But I'm rather happy with it, despite the lack of our favorite ineffable idiots. Don't worry, they'll be back in the spotlight soon. And I will finish this fic this week if it goddamn kills me.


	15. A Special Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He looked at the walls,  
> Awed at the heights  
> His people had achieved  
> And for a moment -- just a moment --  
> All that lay behind him  
> Passed from view.”
> 
> ― Herbert Mason, The Epic of Gilgamesh

There is a snake in the glittering waters of the Euphrates. Iridescent black against the silt and the green of its belly. He has been following the little boat for a few days now, and though he is not technically a water snake, he doesn’t know enough about proper snake anatomy to be bothered. 

If the snake was perfectly honest with himself, he had hoped to be back in Uruk by now, getting blackout drunk and sleeping an awful lot. But fair was fair and the eternal laws of the coin toss must be adhered to. He snorted water out of his snout, stared foggily through the silt and made a solemn oath to win the next one. 

He’d probably cheat next time, if given the chance. Proper demonic activity, cheating. 

Above him, Shem was singing into the sunlight. Gilgamesh sat deep in thought, hand trailing in the water as the other cradled something close to his chest, holding his lingering grief about his shoulders like a shawl. One of them said something quietly to the other, muffled by the water and the rush of the current. Crowley wriggled a little faster, trying to get close enough to hear properly. Aziraphale would kill him if he missed a single detail. 

“I will take this herb back to Uruk. And I will see if your father’s legends are true by giving it to an old man. If it is real, then he will be truly young again, and my fears are over.” 

_Wot?_

_The waters crushed around him, dark and cold and merciless. Stones in his pockets and stones tied to his sandals and stones in his fists and the water swallowed him whole. Look close, and you will see who some call king. Here, he is just a man. And he is drowning. How strange that here, in the black dark beneath all things, there is fire in his lungs and fire in his eyes and oh how it hurts, this burning in the cold and watery dark._

_Abzu, Abzu, Abzu, into the house of the deep waters, cold and hungry and sorrowful._

_When the heavens above did not exist_

_and the earth had not come into being_

_there was Apsu, the first in order, their begetter,_

_and demiurge Tia-mat, who gave birth to them all;_

_They had mingled their waters together_

_before meadow-land had coalesced and reed-bed was to be found--_

_when not one of the gods had been formed_

_There is something called the mammalian dive reflex. And we all have it. It protects us when we are young and in danger of drowning. We all came from water. From the sea, hauled out gasping, quaking under the unforgiving sun. From the womb, shoved out screaming, wailing in a cold and dehydrated world._

_And we mingle our waters together._

_From water we come and to water we return. There is water in the womb and water in our lungs as we age and wither in the sun. And we mingle our waters together. There is a king at the bottom of the world and he is swimming. And Abzu is watching. And we mingle our waters together. There is a man waiting in dusty halls for the love of his life, and he aches._

_There is life here, at the bottom of the house of deep waters. Soft silt and the bellies of blind fish. The aquifer feeds all things. It gives and gives and we weep for joy at its fruit. A hand in the dark, uprooting the stem from the blackness. A knife, severing the straps that keep the stones to his feet. And pockets, empty of anything but the softness of bubbles as he turns now, rises to the surface, and lets the waters take him to the shore._

_Somewhere else, another man is weeping, and his heart is overflowing, so much water. So much water from the spring of his body._

_And we mingle our waters together._

The plant in his hands blossomed sometime in the night. Soft purple petals unfolding in the moonlight, and a sweet, soft fragrance that set the heart at ease. If Crowley had possessed eyelids, he would have squinted suspiciously. As it stood, he didn’t, so he couldn’t. He settled for staring with his head cocked at a jaunty angle to best showcase the mixture of suspicion, curiosity, and worry that he was currently stirring into all-out panic in his tiny reptilian heart. 

He didn’t know anything about this life-giving herb. Couldn’t remember if he’d even heard of such a thing in the works before he was hucked through the pearly gates at terminal velocity. But that didn’t mean that it _wasn’t_ what Gilgamesh said it was--what _Noah_ said it was. 

_But there was another tree, wasn’t there?_

“Sssshit.” 

Crowley slithered closer to the sleeping camp, eyes trained on the blossom beside Gilgamesh’s resting head. The Tree of Life was after his time. That had been a Gabriel Project™. Not anything Crowley had kept up with. Even before the Fall. And though he liked humans, thought they were funny, interesting, _fascinating_ things--the whole ‘soul-to-embryo’ pipeline had seemed dreadfully boring back in the day. 

Had he been wrong?

No idea. But if there was one thing that Crowley, as a semi-self-respecting demon knew, it was this: 

No human _ever_ gets eternal life. 

End of story. Goodnight. No matter _what_ . And if the aforementioned eternal life is bartered for via otherworldly contract--you do what any self-respecting demon (or indeed angel) is _bred_ to do: Fuck ‘em with the fine print. 

Or, in this case--steal their weird immortality-flower out from under their noses. 

Easy peasy. 

Fucked by the fine print. 

It tasted like starlight and ozone and other heavenly things. Things that didn’t belong to him anymore, if they ever did. If they ever would. Crowley wriggled away into the grass, pulling the little flower by the stem, leaving a trail of iridescent pollen stuck to the dew he disturbed on his way. And maybe, when he’d gone a safe distance from the camp and hoisted himself back up on two legs and crushed the plant in between his palms, he meant to leave behind what he did. Or maybe it was an accident--some trick of fate or God or whoever else turns the pages--that in Crowley’s nonexistent footprints, he left three purple petals and a shed skin. 

Gilgamesh drew a narrative from those relics in the light of dawn. _This,_ he tells the children of his people, and their children, living in prosperity under his rule, _is why snakes shed their skin. This_ , he gestures at the silver in his hair, the shaking of his hands, the lines of laughter and love and joy and pain beside his eyes, _is why you see me this way._

_This is why I am human. This is why I love._

The world turns. Letters are written. Things are said, and unsaid. And then unsaid again, but louder. With _meaning._ But here, beside the Euphrates under the blistering beautiful sun, in the long shade of the Cedars, an old man will write his story, though not in the way I’ve told it to you. And, because he is utterly, _completely_ predictable, one angel will take it with him when he leaves for Nineveh. _Just to have_ , he thinks, _Just this once._

He is, as we all know, lying to himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it killed me. Whoops. Anywho. I might pop in an extra chapter or two, I dunno. This last one was quite short but whooo-ee it took it out of me. I hoped you liked my little weird thing, and I hope you forgive me for the lack of Aziraphale and Crowley towards the end. Like I said, I might squeeze in an epilogue. But for now, we've reached the end.


End file.
